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CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY
3 1924 100 532 054
Cornell University
Library
The original of tliis book is in
tine Cornell University Library.
There are no known copyright restrictions in
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http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924100532054
THE ANCIENT CITY:
J^ STUDY
OR THE
RELIGION, LAWS, AND INSTITUTIONS
OF
GREECE AND ROME.
BY
FUSTEL DE COULANGES.
TRANSLATED FROM THE LATEST PRENCE EDITION
By WILLARD SMALL.
THIRD ED1TI"K.
'■^i:"'fc:^
BOSTON: ,\V..-^"
LEE AND SHEPARD.
NEW YORK:
CHARLES T. DILLINGHAM.
1877-
H ^l
A.?o8Ti r^
Entered, ace<$rdiiig to Act of CongresB, in the yeflr 1871b
Bt WILLAItD SMALL,
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.
o /
9
V
t. stereotyped at the Boaton Stereotylie Fbimdi7«
-.v^f .--;r
. 19 Spring Idne. f ^
CONTENTS.
INTKODUCTION.
PAOB
NecesBitT of studying the oldest Beliefs of the Ancients in
order to understand their Institutions. .•..••• 9
BOOK FIRST.
ANCIENT BELIEFS.
CHAPTEE
I. Notions about the Soul and Death 15
II. The Worship of the Dead 23 '^
III. The Sacred Fire 29 ?«■
IV. The Domestic Beligion H i~
BOOK SECOND.
THE FAMILY.
OHAPTEB ,
K I. Beligion was the constituent Fifinciple of the an-
cient Family 49 '~
II. Marriage auoog the Greeks and Bomans 63
III. The Continuity of the Family. Celibacy forbidden.
Divorce in Case of Sterility. Inequality be-
tween the Son and the Daughter 61
3
4 CONTENTS.
ClIAPTEB PAGE
IV. Adoption and Emancipation C8
v. Kinship. What the Romans called Agnation. . . 71
VI. The Right of Property 76 X
VII. The Right of Succession 93
1. Nature and Principle of the Right of Succes-
sion among the Ancients 93
2. The Son, not the Daughter, inherits 95
3. Collateral Succession 100
4. Effects of Adoption and Emancipation. . . . 103
6. Wills were not known originally 101
6. The Right of Primogeniture 107
VIII. Authority in the Family lllj(
1. Principle and Nature of Paternal Power
among the Ancients Ill
2. Enumeration of the Rights composing tho Pa-
ternal Power 117
%X. Morals of the Ancient Family 123
X. The Gens at Rome and in Greece 131
1. What we learn of the Gens from Ancient Doc-
uments 134
2. An Examination of the Opinions that have
been offered to explain the Roman Gens. . 138
8. The Gens was nothing but the Family still
holding to its primitive Organization and
its Unity 141
\ 4. The Family (Gens) was at first the only Form
of Society 14 j
CONTENTS.
BOOK THIRD.
THE CITY.
CnAl'TEB PAOB
I. The Phratry and the Cury. The Tribe 154 '^
II. I'Ne'w Religious Beliefs. 159
1. The Gods of Physical Nature 159
2. Relation of this Religion to the Development
of Human Society 161
III. The City is formed 167
rv. The City. Urbs. 177
I'V. Woraliip of the Founder. Legend of ^neas. . . 188^
vYl. The Gods of the City 193
k-VII. The Religion of the City. . . '. 205
1. The Public Meals 205
2. The Pestirals and the Calendar 210
8. The Census 213
4. Religion in the Assembly, in the Senate, in the
Tribunal, in the Army. The Triumph. . . 216
VIII. The Rituals and the Annals 222
IX. Government of the City. The King 231
'''l. Religious Authority «f the King 231 f^*^
2. Political Authority ofTke King.'' 236 J
X. The Magistracy 239 J
XI. The Law 248
XII. The Citizen and the Stranger 258
XIII. Patriotism. Exile 264
XTV. TheJJunieipal Spirit 268
XV. Relations between the Cities. War. Peace. The
Alliance of the Gods 273
XVI. The Roman. The Athenian 280
XVII. Omnipotence of the State. The Ancients knev
nothing of Individual Liberty 293
6 CONTENTS.
BOOK FOURTH.
REVOLUTIONS.
PAGE
CHAPTER
I. Patricians and Clients 299
II. The Plebeians ^^^
III. First Revolution ^1*
^ 1. The Political Power is taken from the Kings, y
who still retain their Religious Authority. . 314
2. History of this Revolution at Sparta 316
3. History of this Revolution at Athens 319
4. History of this Revolution at Rome 324
IV. The Aristocracy govern the Cities 330
V. Second Revolution. Changes in the Constitution
of the Family. The Right of Primogeniture
disappears. The Gens is dismembered 336
f- VI. The CUents are Freed 341
1. What Clientship was at first, and how it was
transformed 341
2. Clientship disappears at Athens. The Work
of Solon 349
3. Transformation of Clientship at Rome. . . . 354
VII. Third Revolution. Plebs enter the City. .... 360
1. General History of this Revolution 360
2. History of this Revolution at Athens 372
3. History of this Revolution at Rome 379
VIII. Changes in Private Law. Code of the Twelve
Tables. Code of Solon 410
IX. The New Principle of Government. The Public
Interest and the Suffrage 423
X. An Aristocracy of Wealth attempts to establish it-
self. Establishment of the Democracy. Fourth
Revolution. . . , . . 430
CONTBNTS. 7
CHAPTER PAGE
XI. Bules of the Democratic GoTernment. Examples
of Athenian Democracy 439
XII. Bich and Poor. The Democracy falls. Popular
Tyrants 419
XIII. BeTolutions of Sparta 453
BOOK FIFTH.
THE MUNICIPAL EEGIME DISAPPEARS.
'I. New Beliefs. Philosophy changes the Principles
and Bules of Politics 470
II. The Boman Conquest 481 /
1. A few Words on the Origin and Population
of Bome 482
2. FirstAggrandizementofBome(753-350B. C.) 486
3. How Borne acquired Empire (360-140 B. C). 490
4. Bome eyeryvrhere destroys the Municipal
System 600
6. The Conquered Nations successiyely enter the
Boman City 508
i^lIL Christianity changes the Conditions of Govern-
ment 619
THE ANCIENT CITY.
INTRODUCTION.
The Necessity of stndying the earliest Beliefs of the An«
cients in order to understand their Institutions.
It is proposed here to show upon what principles
and by what rules Greek and Roman society was gov-
erned. We unite in the same study both the Greeks
and the Romans, because these two peoples, who were
two branches of a single race, and who spoke two
idioms of a single language, also had the same insti-
tutions and the same principles of government, and
passed through a series of similar revolutions.
We shall attempt to set in a clear light the radi-
cal and essential differences which at all times distin-
guished these ancient peoples from modern societies.
In our system of education, we live from infancy in
the midst of the Greeks and Romans, and become ac-
customed continually to compare them with ourselves,
to judge of their history by our own, and to explain
our revolutions by theirs. What we have received
fi'om them leads us to believe that we resemble them.
We have some difficulty in considering them as for-
9
10 INTEODUCTION.
eign nations; it is almost always ourselves that we
see in them. Hence spring many errors. We rarely
fail to deceive ourselves regarding these iancient na-
tions when we see them through the opinions and facts
of our own time.
Now, errors of this kind are not without danger.
The ideas which the moderns have had of Greece and
Rome have often been in their way. Having imper-
fectly observed the institutions of the ancient city,
men have dreamed of reviving them among us. They
have deceived themselves about the liberty of the an-
cients, and on this very account liberty among the
modems has been put in peril. The last eighty years
have clearly shown that one of the great diflSculties
•which impede the march of modem society, is the
habit which it has of always keeping Greek and Ro-
man antiquity before its eyes.
To understand the truth about the Greeks and Ro-
mans, it is wise to study them without thinking of
ourselves, as if they were entirely foreign to us ; with
the same disinterestedness, and with the mind as free,
as if we were studying ancient India or Arabia.
Thus obsei-ved, Gi-eece and Rome appear to us in a
character absolutely inimitable; nothing in modem
times resembles them ; nothing in the future can rer
semble them. We shall attempt to show by what
rules these societies were regulated, and it will be
freely admitted that the same rules can never govern
humanity again.
Whence comes this ? Why are the conditions of
human government no longer the same as in earlier
times ? The great changes which appear from time to
time in the constitution of society can be the effect
neither of chance nor of force alone.
mTBODUCTION. 11
The cause which produces them must be powerful,
and must be found in man himself. If the la-ws of
human association are no longer the same as in an-
tiquity, it is because there has been a change in man.
There is, in fact, a part of our being which is modified
from age to age ; this is our intelligence. It is always
in movement ; almost always progressing ; and on this
account, our institutions and our laws are subject to
change. Man has jiot, in our day, the way of thinking
that he had twenty-five centuries ago; and this is why
he is no longer governed as he was governed then.
The history of Greece and Rome is a witness and
an example of the intimate relation which always exists
between men's ideas and their social state. Examine
the institutions of the ancients without thinking of
their religious notions, and you find them obscure,
whimsical, and inexplicable. Why were there patri-
cians and plebeians, patrons and clients, eupatrids and
thetes; and whence came the native and ineffaceable
differences which we find between these classes ? What
was the meaning of those LaeedsBntonian institutions
which appear to us so contrary to nature ? How are
we to explain those unjust caprices of ancient private
law; at Corinth and at Thebes, the sale of land pro-
hibited ; at Athens and at Rome, an inequality in the
succession between brother and sister ? What did the
jurists understand by agnation, and by gens f Why
those revolutions in the laws, those political revolu-
tions ? What was that singular patriotism which some-
times effaced every natural sentiment? What did
they understand by that liberty of which they were
always talking ? How did it happen that institutions
so very different from anything of which we have an
idea to-day, could become established and reign for so
12 INTRODUCTION.
long a time? What is the superior principle which
gave them authority over the minds of men ?
But by the side of these institutions and laws place
the religious ideas of those times, and the facts at once
become clear, and their explanation is no longer doubt-
ful. If, on going back to the first ages of this race, —
that is to say, to the time when its institutions were
founded, — we observe the idea which it had of human
existence, of life, of death, of a second life, of the divine
principle, we perceive a close relation between these
opinions and the ancient rules of private Jaw; between
the rites which spring from these opinions and their
political institutions.
A comparison of beliefs and laAvs shows that a primi-
tive religion constituted the Greek and Roman family,
established mairiageand paternal authority, fixed the
order of relationship, and consecrated the right of
property, and the right of inheritance. This same re-
ligion, after having enlarged and extended the family,
formed a still larger association, the city, and reigned
in that as it had reigned in the family. From it came
all the institutions, as well as all the private law, of the
ancients. It was fi-om this that the city received all
its principles, its rules, its usages, and its magistracies.
But, in the course of time, this ancient religion became
modified or effaced, and private law and political in-
stitutions were modified with it. Then came a series
of revolutions, and social changes regularly followed
the development of knowledge.
It is of the first importance, therefore, to study the
religious ideas of these peoples, and the oldest are the
most important for us to know. For the institutions
and beliefs which we find at the flourishing periods of
Greece and Rome are only the development of those
INTRODUCTION. 13
of an earlier age ; we must seek the roots of them in
the veiy distant past. The Greek and Italian popula-
tions are many centuries older than Komulus and
Homer. It was at an epoch more ancient, in an an-
tiquity without date, that their beliefs were formed,
and that their institutions were either established or
prepared.
But what hope is there of arriving at a knowledge
of this distant past? Who can tell us what men
thought ten or fifteen centuries before our era ? Can
we recover what is so intangible and fugitive — beliefs
and opinions? We know what the Aryas of the East
thought thirty-five centuries ago: we learn this from
the hymns of the Vedas, which are certainly very
ancient, and from the laws of Manu, in which we can
distinguish passages that are of an extremely early date.
But where are the hymns of the ancient Hellenes?
They, as well as the Italians, had ancient hymns, and
old sacred books; but nothing of these has come down
to us. What tradition can remain to us of those gen-
erations that have not left us a single written line ?
Fortunately, the past never completely dies for man.
Man may forget it, but he always preserves it withini
him. For, take him at any epoch, and he is the product,
the epitome, of all the earlier epochs. Let him look
into his own soul, and he can find and distinguish
these difierent epochs by what each of them has left
within him.
Let us observe the Greeks of the age, of Pericles, and
the Romans of Cicero's time ; they carry within them
the authentic marks and the unmistakable vestiges of
the most remote ages. The contempornry of Cicero (I
speak especially of the man of the people) has an im-
agination full of legends ; these legends come to him
i/
14 INTEODtrCTlON.
from a very early time, and they bear witness to tlie
manner of thinking of that time. The contemporary of
Cicero speaks a language whose roots are very ancient ;
this langaage, in expressing the thoughts of ancient
ages, has been modelled upon them, and it has kept the
impression, and transmits it from centuiy to century.
The primary sense of a root will sometimes reveal an
ancient ojDinion or an ancient usage ; ideas have been
transformed, and the recollections of them have van-
ished; but the words have remained, immutable wit-
nesses of beliefs that have disappeared.
The contemporary of Cicero practised rites in the
sacrifices, at funerals, and in the ceremony of marriage;
these rites were older than his time, and what proves it
is, that they did not correspond to his religious belief
But if we examine the rites which he observed, or the
formulas which he recited, we find the marks of what
men believed fifteen or twenty centuries earlier.
BOOK FIEST.
ANCIENT BELIEFS.
CHAPTER I.
Notions about the Soul and Death.
Down to the latest times in the history of Greece
and Rome we find the common people clin^ng to
thoughts and usages which certainly dated from a very
distant past, and which enable us to discover what
notions man entertained at first regarding his own
nature, his soul, and the mystery of death.
Go back far as we may in the history of the Indo-
European race, of which the Greeks and Italians are
branches, and we do not find that this race has ever
thought that after this short life all was finished for
man. The most ancient generations, long before there
were philosophers, believed in a second existence after
the present. They looked upon death not as a disso-
lution of bur being, but simply as a change of life.
But in what place, and in what manner, was this
second existence passed ? Did they believe that the
immortal spirit, once escaped from a body, went to ani-
mate another? No; the doctrine of metempsychosis
was never able to take root in the minds of the Greco-
Italians; nor was it the most ancient belief of the
IS
16 AirCIBNT BBLIEPS. BOOK I.
Aryas of the East ; since the hymns of the Vedas teach
another doctrine. Did they believe that the spirit
ascended towards the sky, towards the region of light ?
Not at all ; the thought that departed souls entered a
celestial home is relatively recent in the "West; we
find it expressed for the first time by the poet Pho-
cylides. The celestial abode was never regarded as
anything more than the recompense of a few great
men, and of the benefactors of mankind. According
to the oldest belief of the Italians and Greeks, the soul
did not go into a foreign world to pass its second ex-
istence; it remained near men, and continued to live
under ground.'
They even believed for a very long time that, in this
second existence, the soul remained associated with
the body ; born together, they were not separated by
death, and were buried together in the grave.
■ Old as this belief is, authentic evidences of it still
remain to us. These evidence^ are the rites of sepul-
ture, which have long survived this primitive belief,
but which certainly began with it, and which enable us
to understand it.
The rites of sepulture show clearly that when a
body was buried, those ancient peoples believed that
they buried something that was living. Virgil, who
always describes religious ceremonies with so much
care and precision, concludes the account of the funeral
of Polydorus in these words : " We enclose the soul iu
the gi-ave." The same expression is found in Ovid,
and in Pliny the Younger; this did not correspond
to the ideas which these writers had of the soul,
' S-ub terra censehant reliqrtam viiam agi morttiorum. Cicero
Tusc, I. 16. Euripides, Ale, 163 ; ffec, passim.
CHAP. I. NOTIOirS ABOUT THE SOUL AND DEATH. 17
but from time immemorial it had been perpetuated in
the language, attesting an ancient and common belief.'
It was a custom, at the close of a funeral ceremonj',
to call the soul of the deceased three times by the
name he had borne. They wished that he might live
happy under ground. Three times they said to him
Pare thee well. They added, May the earth rest lightly
upon thee.' Thus firmly did they believe that the per-
son would continae to live under ground, and that he
would still preserve a sense of enjoyment and suffering.
They wrote upon the tomb that the man rested there —
an expression which survived this belief, and which has
come down through so many centuries to our time. We
still employ it, though surely no one to-day thinki
an immortal being rests in a tomb. But in
ancient days they believed so firmly that a man
there that they never failed to bury with him the ob-
jects of which they supposed he had need — clothing,
utensils, and arms. They poured wine npon his tomb
to quench his thirst, and placed rood there to satisfy
his hunger. They slaughtered horses and slaves wit
the idea that these beings, buried with the dead, woo,
' Ovid, Fa^., V. 451. Pliny, ie«er«,lvil. 27. \irg. JiEn.,
III. 67. Virgil's description relates ta the employment of
cenotaphs ; it was admitted that when tie body ofl^relative
could not .>e found, they might performV a cereraotiy which
exactly reproduced all the rites of sepulture ^nd it nras believed
that in this way, in the absence of the body,'riiewenclos&d the
soul in the tomb. Eurip., Helen., lOGl, 1240l/Scholiast, ad
Find. Fyth., IV. 284. Virg., VI..603; XII. 2^
" Iliad, XXIir. 221. Pausanias, II. 7, 2. Eurip., AIL,
463. Virg., JEn., III. 68. Catul., 98, 10. Ovid, Trist., III.
3," 43; Fast., IV. 852; Metam., X. 62. Juvenal, VII. 207.
Martial, I. 89; V. 35; IV. 30. Servius, ad ^n., II. 644;
III. G8 ; XI. 97. Tacit., Agric., 46.
2
18 ANCIENT BELIEFS. BOOK 1
serve him in the tomb, as they had done during his
life. After the taking of Troy, the Greeks are about to
return to their country ; each takes with him his beauti-
ful captive ; but Achilles, who is under the earth,
claims his captive also, and they give him Polyxena.'
A verse of Pindar has preserved to us a curious
vestige of the thoughts of those ancient generations.
Phrixus had been compelled to quit Greece, and had
fled as far as Colchis. He had died in that country;
but, dead though he was, he wished to return to Greece.
He appeared, therefore, to Pelias, and directed him to
go to Colchis and bring away his fioul. Doubtless this
soul regretted the soil of its native country, and the
tomb of its family ; but being attached to its corporeal
remains, it could not quit Colchis without them.*
From this primitive belief came the necessity of
burial. In order that the soul might be confined to
this subterranean abode, which was suited to its second
life, it was necessary that the body to which it remained
attached should be covered with earth. The soul that
had no tomb had no dwelling-place. It was a wander-
ing spirit. In vain it sought the repose which it would
naturally desire after the agitations and labor of this
life ; it must wander forever under the. form of a larva,
or phantom, without ever stopping, without ever receiv-
ing the ofierings and the food which it had need of.
Unfortunately, it soon became a malevolent spirit ; it
tormented the living ; it brought diseases upon them,
i-avaged their harvests, and frightened them by gloomy
apparitions, to warn them to give sepulture to its body
' Eurip., me., passim; Ale, Iphig., 162. Iliad, XXIII. 166.
Virg., JSn., V. 77; VI. 221; XI. 81. Pliny, N. H., VIII. 40.
Suet., Ceesar, 84. Lucian, De Luctu, 14.
* Pind., Pyihic, IV. 284, ed. Heyne; see the Scholiast.
CHAP. I. NOTIONS ABOUT THE SOUL AND DEATH. 19
and to itself. From this came the belief in ghosts. AH
antiquity was persuaded that without burial the soul
was miserable, and that by burial it became forever
happy. It was not to display their grief that they
performed the funeral ceremony, it was for the rest and
happiness of the dead.'
We must remark, however, that to place the body
in the ground was not enough. Certain traditional
rites had also to be observed, and certain established
formulas to be pronounced. We find in Plautus an
account of a ghost ; * it was a soul that was compelled
to wander because its body had been placed in the
ground without due attention to the rites. Suetonius
relates that when the body of Caligula was placed in
the earth without a due observation of the funeral
ceremonies, his soul was not at rest, and continued to
appear to the living until it was determined to disinter
the body and give it a burial according to the rules.
These two examples show clearly what efiects.were
attributed to the rites and formulas of the funeral cere-
mony. Since without them souls continued to wan-
der and appear to the living, it must have been by them
that souls became fixed and enclosed in their tombs ;
and just as there were formulas which had this virtue,
there were others which had a contrary virtue — that
of evoking souls, and making them come out for a time
from the sepulchre.
We can see in ancient writers how man was toi"-
mented by the fear that after his death the rites would |
• Odyssey, XI. 72. Eurip., Troad., 1085. Hdts., V. 92.
Virg., VI. 371, 379. Horace, Odes, I. 23. Ovid, Fast., V. 483.
Pliny, Epist., VII. 27. Suetonius, GaVig., 59. Servius, ad
^n., III. 68.
' Plautus, MosieUaria.
/
20 ABTCIENT BELIEFS. BOOK 1.
not be observed for him. It was a source of constant
inquietude. Men feargd-dfiath less than the privation
of burial ; for rest and eternal happiness were at stake.
We ought not to be too much surprised at seeing the
Athenians put generals to death, who, after a naval
victory, had neglected to bury the dead. These gen-
erals, disciples of philosophers, distinguished clearly
between the soul and the body, and as they did not
believe that the fate of the one was connected with the
fate of the other, it appeared to them of very little con-
sequence whether a body was decomposed in the earth
or in the water. Therefore they did not brave the
tempest for the vain foiinality of collecting and burying
their dead. But the multitude, who, even at Athens,
still clung to the ancient doctrines, accused- these gen-
erals of impiety, and had them put to death. By their
victory they had saved Athens ; but by their impiety
they had lost thousands of souls. The relatives of the
dead, thinking of the long-suffering which these souls
must bear, came to the tribunal clothed in mourning,
and asked for vengeance. In the ancient cities the law
condemned those guilty of great crimes to a terrible
punishment — the privation of burial. In this manner
they punished the soul itself, and inflicted upon it a
punishment almost eternal.
We must observe that there was among the ancients
another opinion concerning the abode of the dead.
They pictured to themselves a region, also subterranean,
but infinitely more vast than the tomb, where all souls,
far from their bodies, lived together, and where re-
wards and punishments were distributed according to
the lives men had led in this world. But the rites of
burial, such as we have described them, manifestly dis-
agree with this belief— a certain proof that, at the epoch
CHAP. I. NOTIONS ABOUT THE SOUL AND DEATH. 21
when these rites were established, men did not yet be-
lieve in Tartarus and the Elysian Fields. The earliest
opinion of these ancient generations was, that man lived
in the tomb, that the soul did not leave the body, and
that it remained fixed to that portion of ground where
tlie bones lay buried. Besides, man had no account to
I'ender of his past life. Once placed- in the tomb, he
had neither rewards nor punishments to expect. This
is a very crude opinion surely, but it is the beginnihg
of the notion of a future life.
The being who lived under ground was not suf-
ficiently free from human frailties to have no need of
food ; and, therefore, on certain days of the year, a
meal was carried to eveiy tomb. Ovid and Vii'gil
have given us a description of this ceremony. The
observance continued unchanged even to their time^
although religious beliefs had already undergone great
changes. According to these writers, the tomb was
surrounded with large wreaths of grasses and flowers,
and cakes, fruits, and flowers were placed upon it ;
milk, wine, and sometimes even the blood of a victim
were added.'
We should greatly deceive ourselves if we thought
that these funeral repasts were nothing more than a sort
of commemoration. The food that the family brought
was really for the dead — exclusively for hira. What
proves this is, that the milk and wine were poured out
upon the earth of the tomb ; that the earth was hollowed
out so that the solid food might reach the dead ; that
if they sacrificed a victim, all its flesh was burnt, so
that none of the living could have any part of it ; that
' Virgil, ^n., III. 300 et seq. j V. 77. Ovid, Fast, II.
635-542.
22 ANCIENT BELIEFS. BOOK I.
they pronounced certain consecrated formulas to in-
vite the dead to eat and drink; that if the entire familj
were present at the meal, no one touched the food ;
that, in fine, when they went away, they took great
care to leave a little milk and a few cakes in vases ; and
that it was considered gross impiety for any living
person to touch this scant provision destined for the
needs of the dead.'
•These usages are attested in the most formal manner.
" I pour upon the earth of the tomb," says Iphigenia
in Euripides, "milk, honey, and wine; for it is with
these that we rejoice the dead."' Among the Greeks
there was in front of every tomb a place destined for
the immolation of the victim and the cooking of its
flesh.^ The Roman tomb also had its cvMna, a species
of kitchen, of a particular kind, and entirely for the use
of the dead.* Plutarch relates that after the battle of
Platsea, the slain having been buried upon the field of
battle, the Platseans engaged to offer them the funeral
repast every year. Consequently, on each anniversary,
they went in grand procession, conducted by their first
magisti-ates to the mound under which the dead lay.
They offered the departed milk, wine, oil, and perfumes,
and sacrificed a victim. When the provisions had been
placed upon the tomb, the Platseans pronounced a
formula by which they called the dead to come and
partake of this repast. This ceremony was still per-
formed in the time of Plutarch, who was enabled to
witness the six hundredth anniversary of it.* A little
> Hdts.,II. 40. Eurip., /Tec, 636. Pausanias, II. 10. "Virgil,
V. 98. Ovid, Fast., II. 566. Lucian, Charon.
" .ffisch., Choeph., 476. Eurip., Iph., 162.
' Euripides, Electra, 613.
* Festus, V. Culina.
' Plutarch, Aristides, 21.
CHAP. II. THK WORSHIP OF THE DEAD. 23
later, Lucian, ridiculing these opinions and usages,
filiows how deeply rooted they were in the common
mind. "The dead," says he, "are nourished by the
provisions which we place upon their tomb, and drink
the wine which we pour out there ; so "^hat one of the
dead to whom nothing is offered U condemned to
perpetual hunger.'"
These are very old forms of belief and are quite
groundless and ridiculous ; and yet they exercised
empire over man during a great number of generations.
They governed men's minds ; we shall soon see tliat
they governed societies even, and that the greater part
of the domestic and social institutions of the ancients
was derived from this source.
CHAPTER II.
The Worship of the Dead.
This belief very soon gave rise to certain rules of
conduct./ Since the dead had need of food and drink,
it appeared to be a duty of the living to satisfy this
need. The care of supplying the dead with sustenance
was not left to the caprice or to the variable senti-
ments of men; it was obligatory. Thus a complete
religion of the dead was establishedj whose dogmas
might soon be effaced, but whose rites endured until
the triumph of Chiistianity. The dead were held to
be sacred beings. To them the ancients applied tiie
most respectful epithets that could be thought of; they
' Lucian, De Luctu.
24 ANCIENT BELIEFS. BOOK I.
called them good, holy, happy. For them they had
all the veneration that man can have for the divinity
whom he loves or fears. In their thoughts the dead
were gods.'
This sort of apotheosis was not the privilege of
great men ; no distinction was made among the dead.
Cicero says, " Our ancestors desired that the men who
had quitted this life should be counted in the number
of the gods." It was not necessary to have been even
a virtuous man : the wicked man, as well as the good
man, became a god ; but he retained in the second life
all the bad inclinations which' had tormented Lim in
the flrst.^
The Greeks gave to the dead the name of subter-
ranean gods. In JEschylus, a son thus invokes his
deceased father: "O thou who art a god beneath the*''
earth." Euripides says, speaking of Alcestis, " Near
her tomb the passer by will stop and say, ' This is now
a thrice happy divinity.' "*
The Romans gave to the dead the name of Manes.t^
"Render to the manes what is due them," says Cicero;
" they are men who have quitted this life ; consider
them as divine beings."*
The tombs were the temples of these divinities, and
they bore the sacramental inscription, Dis Manibm,
and in Greek, ^colg x^ovlotg. There the god lived
-Slsch., Choeph., 469. Sophocles, Antig., 451. Plutarch,
'Jolon, 21; Rom. Quest., 52; Gr. Quest., 5. Virgil, V. 47-
V". 80.
'' Cicero, Ve Legib., 22. St. Augustine, City of God, IX. IJ ;
VIII. 26. ;> J , ,
' Eurip., Ale, 1003, 1015.
* Cicero, Be Legib., II. 9 Varro, in St. Augustine, Citj, of
God, VIII. 26. " ■'
CHAP. 11. THB WOESHIP OF THE DBAD. 25
beneath the soil, manesque sepuUi, says Virgil. Be-
fore the tomb there was an altar for the sacriiices, as
before the temples of the gods.'
We find this worship of the dead among the Hel-
lenes, among the Latins, among the Sabines," among
the Etruscans ; we also find it among the Aryas of
India. Mention is made of it in the hymns of the Reg-
Veda. It is spoken of in the Laws of Manu as the
iaost ancient worship among men. We see in this
book that the idea of metempsychosis Lad already
passed over this ancient belief, even before the religion
of Brahma was established; and still beneath the
worship of Brahma, beneath the doctrine of metemp-
sychosis, the religion of the souls of ancestors still
subsists, living and indestructible, and compels the
author of the Laws of Manu to take it into account,
and to admit its rules into the sacred book. Not the
least singular thing about this strange book is, that it
has preserved the rules relative to this ancient belief^
whilst it was evidently prepared in an age when a
belief entirely different had gained the ascendency.
^ This proves that much time is required to transform
a human belief, and still more to modify its exterior
forms, and the laws based upon it!} At the present day,
even, after so many ages of revolutions, the Hindus
continue to make offerings to their ancestors. This
belief and these rites are the oldest and the most persist-
ent of anything pertaining to the Indo-European race.
This worship was the same in India as in Greece and
' Virgil, JEn., IV. 34. Aulua Gellius, X. 18. Plutarch,
Bom. Quest, 14. Eurip., Troades, 96; Elevtra, 613. Sue-
tonius, Nero, 50.
» Varro, De Ling. Lat, V. 74. ■',
26 ANCIENT BELIEFS. BOOK L
Italy. The Hindu had to supply the manes with the
^ recast, which was called sraddha. "Let the master
of the house make the sraddha with rice, milk, roots,
and fruits, in order to procure for himself the good- will
of the manes."
The Hindu believed that at the moment whei. he
offered this limeral repast, the manes of his ancestore
came to seat themselves beside him, and took the nour-
ishment which was offered them. He also believed
that this repast afforded the dead great enjoyment.
"When the sraddha is made according to the rites, the
ancestors of the one who offers it experience un-
bounded satisfaction." '
Thus the Aryas of the East had, in the beginning,
the same notions as those of the West, relative to man's
destiny after death. Before believing in metemp-
sychosis, which supposes an absolute distinction be-
tween the soul and the body, they believed in the
vague and indefinite existence of man, invisible, but
not immaterial, and requiring of mortals nourishment
and offerings.
The Hindu, like the Greek, regarded the dead as
divine beings, who enjoyed a happy existence ; but their
happiness depended on the condition that the offerings
made by the living should be carried to them regularly.
If the sraddha for a dead person was not offered regu-
larly, his soul left its peaceful dwelling, and became a
wandering spirit, who tormented the living; so that,
if the dead were really gods, this was only whilst the
living honored them with their worship.
The Greeks and Romans had exactly the same be-
lief. If the funeral repast ceased to be offered to the
' LamofManu, I. 95; III. 82, 122, 127, 146, 189, 274.
CHAP. n. THE WOESHIP OF THE DEAD. 27
dead, they immediately left their tombs, and became
■wandering shadeB, that were heard in the silence of the
night. They reproached the living with their negli-
gence; or they sought to punish them by afflicting
them with diseases, or cursing their soil with sterility.
In a word, they left the living no rest till the funeral
feasts were re-established. The sacrifice, the offering
of nourishment, and the libation restored them to the
tomb, and gave them back their rest and their divine
attributes. Man was then at peace with them.'
If a deceased person, on being neglected, became a
malignant spirit, one who was honored became, on
the other hand, a tutelary deity. He loved those who
brought him noxu'ishment. To protect them he con-
tinued to take part in human affairs, and frequently
played an important part there. Dead though he was,
he knew how to be strong and active. The living
prayed to him, and asked his support and his favors.
When any one came near a tomb, he stopped, and said,
" Subterranean god, be propitious to me." '
We can judge of the power whicli the ancients
attributed to the dead by this prayer, which Electra
addresses to the manes of her father : " Take pity on
me, and on my brother Orestes ; make him return to
this country ; hear my prayer, O my father ; grant my
• Ovid, Fast., II. 549-556. Thus in JSschylus: Clytem-
nestra, V arned by a dream that the manes of Agamemnon are
irritated against her, hastens to send ofierings to his tomb.
* Eurip., Ah„ 1004 (1016) : "They believe that if we have
no care for those dead, and if we neglect their worship, they
will do us harm, and that, on the contrary, they do us good if
we render them propitious to us by offerings." Porphyry, De
Aistin , II. 87. See Horace, Odes, II. 23; Plato, Lavii, IX. p.
926, 927.
28 ANCIENT BELIEFS. BOOK :
wishes, receiving my libations." These powerful god
did not give material aid only ; for Electra adds, " Giv
me a heart more chaste than my mother's, and pure
hands." ' Thus the Hindu asks of the manes " tha
in his family the number of good men may incivas*
and that he may have much to give."
These human souls deified by death were what th
Greeks called demons, or heroes?' The Latins gav
them the name of Lares, Manes, Genii. " Our ances
tors believed," says Apuleius, " that the Manes, whei
they were malignant, were to be called larvce ; the;
called them Lares when they were benevolent am
propitious." " Elsewhere we read, " Genius and Lar i
the same being ; so our ancestors believed." ■* And ii
Cicero, " Those that the Greeks called demons we eal
Lares."'
This religion of the dead appears to be the oldes
that has existed among this race of men. Before raei
had any notion of Indra or of Zeus, they adored th
dead ; they feared them, and addressed them prayers
It seems that the religious sentiment commenced ii
this way. It was perhaps while looking upon the dea(
' ^soh., Choeph., 122-133.
* The primitire sense of this last word appears to have bee
that of dead men. The language of the inscriptions, which i
that of the common people among the Greeks, often employs :
in this sense. Boeckh, Corp. inscript., Nos. 1629, 1723, 1781
1784, 1786, 1789, 3398. Ph. Lebas, Monum. de Moree, p. 201
Vide Theognis, ed. Welcker, V. 313. The Greeks also gave t
one dead the name of Saifimv. Eurip. Ale, 1140, et Scho!
^seh., Pers., 620. Fausanias, VI. 6.
' Servins, ad Mn., III. 63.
* Censorinus, 3.
' Cicero, Timceus, 11. Dionysius Halicarnasseus translate
Lar famUiaris by o xa%' oixiav (gcos. {Antiq. Rom., IV. 2.)
OHAP. III. THE SACP.BD FIRE. 29
that man first conceived the idea of the supernatural,
and began to have a hope beyond what he saw. Death
was the first mystery, and it placed man on the track
of other mysteries. It raised his thoughts from the
visible to the invisible, from the transitory to the
eternal, from the human to the divine.
CHAPTER III.
The Sacred Fire.
In the house of every Greek and Roman was an
altar; on this altar there had always to be a small
quantity of ashes, and a few lighted coals.' It was a
sacred obligation for the master of every house to keep
the fire up night and day. Woe to the house where
it was extinguished. Every evening they covered the
coals with ashes to prevent them from being entirely
consumed. In the morning the first care was to revive
this fire with a few twigs. The fire ceased to glow upon
the altar only when the entire family had perished ;
an extinguished hearth, an extinguished family, were
synonymous expressions among the ancients.'
' The Greeks called this altar by various names, |?mjios,
Iffjfago, iaria; this last finally prevailed in use, and was the
name by which they afterwards designated the goddess Vesta.
The Latins called the same altar ara ox focus,
= Bomeric Rymns, XXIX. Orphic Hymns, LXXXIV. He-
siod. Opera, 732. iEsch., Agam., 1056. Eurip., Berc. Fur.,
603, 599. Thuc, I. 136. Aristoph., Plut., 795. Cato, De Rt
Rust., 143. Cicero, Pro Domo, 40. Tibullus, I. 1, 4. Horace,
Upod., ir. 43. Ovid, A. A., I. 637. Virgil, II. 512.
30 ANCIENT BELIEFS. BOOK 1.
It is evident that this usage of keeping fire always
upon an altar was connected with an ancient belief.
The rules and the rites which they observed in regard
to it, show that it was not an insignificant custom. It
was not permitted to feed this fire with every sort of
wood; religion distinguished among the trees those
that could be employed for this use from those it was
impiety to make use of.'
It was also a religious precept that this fire must
always remain pure ; ' which meant, literally, that no
filthy object ought to be cast into it, and figuratively,
that no blameworthy deed ought to be committed in
its presence. There was one day in the year — among
the Romans it was the first of March — when it was
the duty of every family to put out its sacred fire, and
light another immediately.^ But to procure this new
fire, certain rites had to be scrupulously observed.
Especially must they avoid using flint and steel for this
purpose. The only processes allowed were to concen-
trate the solar rays into a focus, or to rub together
rapidly two pieces of wood of a given sort.* These
diflerent rules sufficiently prove that, in the opinion of
the ancients, it was not a question of procuring an ele-
ment useful and agreeable; these men saw something
else in the fire that burnt upon their altars.
This fire was something divine ; they adored it, and
offered it a real worship. They made offerings to it
of whatever they believed to be agreeable to a god —
' Virgil, VII. 71. Pestus, v. Felids. Plutarch, Numa, 9.
» Eurip., Berc. Fur., 715. Cato, De Ee Rust., US. Ovid,
Fast., III. 698.
^ Macrob. Saturn., 1. 12.
* Ovid, Fast., III. 143. Festus, v. Felids. Julian, Speech
on the Sun.
CHAP. m. THE SACKED PIEE. 31
flowers, fruits, incense, wine, and victims. They be-
lieved it to have power, and asked for its protection.
They addressed fervent prayers to it, to obtain those
eternal objects of human desire — health, wealth, and
happiness. One of these prayers, which has been pre-
served to us in the collection of Orphic Hymns, runs
thus : " Render us always prosperous, always happy,
O fire; thou who art eternal, beautiful, ever young;
thou who nourishest, thou who art rich, receive favor-
ably these our offerings, and in return give us happiness
and sweet health." '
Thus they saw in the fire a beneficent god, who main-
tained the life of man ; a rich god, who nourished him
with gifts; a powerful god, who protected his house
and family. In presence of danger they sought refuge
near this fire. When the palace of Priam is de-
stroyed, Hecuba draws the old man near the hearth.
" Thy ai-ms cannot protect thee," she says ; " but this
altar will protect us all." "
See Alcestis, who is about to die, giving her life to
save her husband. She approaches the fire, and in-
vokes it in these terms : " O divinity, mistress of this
house, for the last time I fall before thee, and address
thee my prayers, for I am going to descend among
the dead. Watch over my children, who will have no _
mother; give to my boy a tender wife, and to my girl
a noble husband. Let them not, like me, die before
the time ; but let them enjoy a long life in the midst
of happiness." '
' Orphic Hymns, 84. Plaut., Captiv., II. 2. Tibull., I. 9,
U. Ovid, A. A., I. 637. Plin., Nat, Mist., XVIII. 8.
' Virgil, ^n., II. 523. Horace, Epist., I. 6. Ovid, Trist.,
IV. 8, 22.
' Eurip., Alt; 162-168.
32 ANCIENT BELIEFS. BOOK I.
In misfortune man betook himself to his sacred tire,
and heaped reproaches upon it; in good fortune lie
returned it thanks. The soldier who returned from
war thanked it for having enabled him to escape the
perils, ^schylus represents Agamemnon returning
from Troy, happy, and covered with glory. His first
act is not to thank Jupiter ; he does not goto a temple
to pour out his joy and gratitude, but makes a sacri-
fice of thank-offerings to the fire in his own house.'
A man never went out of his dwelling without address-
ing a prayer to the fire ; on his return, before seeing
his wife or embracing his children, he must fall before
the fire, and invoke it.'
The sacred fire was the Providence of the family.
The worship was very simple. The first rule was, that
there should always be upon the altar a few live coals ;
for if this fire was extinguished a god ceased to exist.
At certain moments of the day they placed upon the fire
diy herbs and wood ; then the god manifested himself
in a bright flame. They offered sacrifices to him ; and
the essence of every sacrifice was to sustain and reani-
mate the sacred fire, to nourish and develop the body
of the god. This was the reason why they gave
him wood before everything else; for the same rea-
.son they afterwards poured out wine upon the altar,
— the inflammable wine of Greece, — oil, incense, and
the fat of victims. The god received these offerings,
and devoured them ; radiant with satisfaction, he
rose above the altar, and lighted up the worshipper
with his brightness. Then was the moment to invoke
him ; and the hymn of prayer went out from the heart
of man.
' Msch., Agam., 1015.
* Cato, De Be Rust,, 2. Eurip., Here. Pur., 523.
(THA.P. ni. THE SACRED TIEE. 33
Especially were th« meals of the family religious
acts. The god presided there. He had cooked the
bread, and prepared the food ; ' a prayer, therefore, was
due at the beginning and end of the repast. Before
eating, they placed upon the altar the first fruits of the
food ; before drinking, they poured out a libation of
wine. This was the god's portion. No one doubted
that he was present, that h« ate and drank ; for did they
not see the flame increase as if it had been nourished
by the provisions offei-ed ? Thus the meal was divided
between the man and the god. It was a sacred cere-
mony, by which they held communion with each other."
This is an old belief, which, in the course of time, faded
from the minds of men, but which left behind it, for
many an age, rites, usages, and forms of language of
which even the incredulous could not free themselves.
Horace, Ovid, and Petronius still supped before their
fires, and poured out libations, and addressed prayers
to them.^
This worship of the sacred fire did not belong ex-
clusively to the populations of Greece and Italy-. We
find it in the East. The Laws of Manu, as they have
come to us, show us the religion of Brahma completely
established, and even vergilig towards its decline ; but
they have preserved vestiges and remains of a religion ,
still more ancient, — that of the sacred fire, — which the
worship of Brahma had reduced to a secondary rank,
but could not destroy. The Brahmin has his fire to
keep night and day; every morning and every evening
he feeds it with wood ; but, as with \he Greeks, this
' OTid, Fast., VI. 316.
" Plutarch, Rom. Quest., 64 ; Comm. on Hesiod, ii- Ilomerit
Hymns, 29.
» Horace, Sat., II. 6, 66. Ofid, Fast., II. 631. Petronius, 60.
3
34 ANCIENT BELIEFS. BOOK
muBt be the wood of certain trees. As the Greeks an
Italians offer it wine, the Hindu pours upon it a fe
niented liquor, which he calls soma. Meals, too, ai
religious acts, and the rites are scrupulously describe
in the Laws of Manu. They address prayers to tl)
file, as in Greece; they offer it the first fruits of ric
l)iitter, and honey. We read that " the Brahmin shoul
not eat the rice of the new harvest without havin
offered the first fruits of it to the hearth-fire; for tli
sacred fire is greedy of grain, and when it is not hoi
ored, it will devour the existence of the negligci
Brahmin." The Hindus, like the Greeks and the R
mans, pictured the gods to themselves as greedy n(
only of honors and respect, but of food and drinl
Man believed himself compelled to satisfy their hung(
and thirst, if he wished to avoid their wrath.
Among the Hindus this divinity of the fire is calle
Agni. The Rig-Veda contains a great number c
hymns addressed to this god. In one it is said, " <
Agni, thou art the life, thou art the protecto/ o
man. ... In return for our praises, bestow upon tl:
father of the family who implores thee glory an
riches. . . . Agni, thou art a prudent defender and
father; to thee we owe life ; we are thy family." Thi
the fire of the hearth is, as in Greece, a tutelary powe
Man asks abundance of it : " Make the earth ever li
eral towards us." He asked health of it : " Grant thi
I may enjoy long life, and that I may arrive at old ag
like the sun at his setting." He even asks wisdom c
it: "O Agni, thou placest upon the good way tl
man who has wandered into the bad. . . . Ifwehai
committed a fault, if we have gone far from thee, pa
don us." This fire of the hearth was, as in Greec
essentially pure : the Brahmin was forbidden to thro
anything filthy into it, or even to warm his feet by :
CHAP. in. THE SACKED FIEE. 35
As in Greece, the guilty man could not approach his
hearth before he had purified himself.
It is a strong proof of the antiquity of this belief, and
of these practices, to find them at the same time among
men on the shores of the Mediterranean and amons
those of the peninsula of India. Assuredly the Greeks
did not borrow this religion from the Hindus, nor the
Hindus from the Greeks. But the Greeks, the Italians,
and the Hindus belonged to the same race ; their an-
cestors, in a very distant past, lived together in Central
Asia. There this creed originated and these rites were
established. The religion of the sacred fire dates, there-
fore, from the distant and dim epoch when there were
yet no Greeks, no Italians, no Hindus ; when there
were only Aryas. When the tribes separated, they
can-ied this worship with them, some to the banks of
the Ganges, others to the shores of the Mediterranean.
Later, when these tribes had no intercourse with encli
other, some adored Brahma, others Zeus, and still others
Janus; each group chose its own gods; but all pre-
served, as an ancient legacy, the first religion which
they had known and practised in the common cradle
of their race.
If the existence of this worship among all the Indo-
European nations did not sufficiently demonstrate its
high antiquity, we might find other proofs of it in the
■religious rites of the Greeks and Romans. In all sac-
rifices, even in those offered to Zeus or to Athene, the
first invocation was always addressed to the fire.'
Every prayer to any god whatever must commence
and end with a prayer to the fire." At Olympia, the
' Porphyry, De Abstin., II. p. IOC. Plutarch, De Frigido.
' Homeric Hymns, 29 ; Ibid., 3, v. 33. Plato, Cratyhis, 18.
36 ANCIENT BELIEFS. BOOK t
first sacrifice that assembled Greece offered was to the
hearth-tire, the second was to Zeus.' So, too, at Rome,
the first adoration was always addressed to Vesta, who
was no other than the hearth-fire. Ovid says of this
goddess, that she occupied the first place in the religious
practices of men. We also read in the hymns of the
Rig- Veda, " Agni must be invoked before all the other
gods. We pronounce his venerable name before that
of all the other immortals. O Agni, whatever other
god we honor with our sacrifices, the holocaust is
always offered to thee." ' It is certain, therefore,, that
at Rome in Ovid's time, and in India in the time of
the Brahmins, the fire of the hearth took precedence
■,»f all other gods ; not that Jupiter and Brahma had
not acquired a greater importance in the religion of
men, but it was remembered that the hearth-fire was
much older than those gods. For many centuiies he
had held the first place in the religions worship, and
the newer and greater gods could not dispossess him
of this place.
The symbols of this religion became modified in the
course of ages. When the people of Greece and Italy
began to represent their gods as persons, and to give
each one a proper name and a human form, the old
worship of the hearth-fire submitted to the common
law which human intelligence, in that period, imposed
upon every religion. The altar of the sacred fire was
personified. They called it kaila, Vesta; the name
was the same in Latin and in Greek, and was the same
Besychius, &tp' sarias. Diodorus, VI. 2. Aristoph., Birds,
865.
' Pausaniaa, V. 14.
' Cicero, De Nat. Deorum, II. 27. Ovid, Fast, VI. 804.
CHAP. III. THE SACEED FIBB. 37
that in the common and primitive language designated
an altar. By a process frequent enough, a common
noun had become a proper name. By degrees a legend
was formed. They pictured this divinity to themselves
as wearing a female form, because the word used for
altar was of the feminine gender. They even went so
far as to represent this goddess in statues. Still they
could never efface the primitive belief, according to
which this divinity was simply the fire upon the altar ;
and Ovid himself was forced to admit that Vesta was
nothing else than a "living flame." '
If we compare this worship of the sacred fire with
the worship of the dead, of which wo have already
spoken, we shall perceive a close relation between
them.
Let us remark, in the first place, that this fire, which
was kept burning upon the hearth, was not, in the
thoughts of men, the fire of material nature. What
they saw in it was not the purely physical element that
warms and burns, that transforms bodies, melts metals,
and becomes the powerful instrument of liuman in-
dustry. The fire of the hearth is of quite another
nature. It is a pare fire, which can be produced only
by the aid of certain rites, and can be kept up only with
certain kinds of wood. It is a chaste fire ; the union
of the sexes must be removed fhr from its presence.'
They pray to it not only for riches and health, bat also
for purity of heart, temperance, and wisdom. "Render
UB rich and flourishing," says an Orphic hymn ; " make
us also wise and chaste." Thus the lieai'th-flre is a sort
of a moral being; it shines, and warms, and cooks the
' Ovid, Fast., VI. 291.
' Hesiod, Opera, 731. Plutarch, Coram, on Hes,, frag. 43.
38 ANCIENT BELIEFS. BOOK :
sacred food ; but at the same time it thinks, and has
conscience ; it knows men's duties, and sees that tlie;
are fulfilled. One might call it human, for it has th
double nature of man ; physically, it blazes up, it move*
it lives, it procures abundance, it prepares the repasi
it nourishes the body; morally, it has sentiments an(
affections, it gives man purity, it enjoins the beautifu
and the good, it nourishes the soul. One might sa;
that it supports human life in the double series of it
manifestations. It is at the same time the source o:
wealth, of health, of virtue. It is truly the god oi
human nature. Later, when this worship had beei
assigned to a second place by Brahma or by Zeus, ther
still remained in the hearth-fire whatever of divine wa
most accessible to man. It became his mediator witl
the gods of physical nature; it undertook to carry b
heaven the prayer and the offering of man, and to briuj
the divine favors back to him. Still later, when the;
made the great Vesta of this myth of the sacred firs
Vesta was the virgin goddess. She represented in th
world neither fecundity nor power; she was order, bu
not rigorous, abstract, mathematical order, the in:
perious and unchangeable law, (i^ttyx/?, which was earl
perceived in physical nature. She was moral ordei
They imagined her as a sort of universal soul, whic'
regulated the different movements of worlds, as th
human soul keeps order in the human system.
Thus are we permitted to look into the way o
thinking of primitive generations. The principle o
this worship is outside of physical nature, and is foun
in this little mysterious world, this microcosm — man.
This brings us back to the worship of the deac
Both are of the same antiquity. They were so closel
associated that the belief of the ancients made but on
CHAP. ni. THE SACKED FIEE. 39
religion of both. Hearth-fire demons, heroes, Lares,
all were confounded.' We see, from two passages of
Plautns and Columella, that, in the common language,
they said, indifferently, hearth or domestic Lares ; and
we know that, in Cicero's time, they did not distingiiisli
the hearth-fire from the Penates, nor the Penates from
the Lares.' In Servius we read, " By hearth the an-
cients understood the Lares;" and Virgil has writ-
ten, iudifferenlJy, hearth for Penates and Penates for
hearth." In a famous passage of the JEneid, Hector
tells ^neas that he is going to intrust to hira the Trojan
Penates, and it is the hearth-fire that he commits to
his care. In another passage jEneas, invoking these
same gods, calls them at the same time Penates, Lares,
and Vesta.*
We have already seen that those whom the ancients
called Lares, or heroes, were no other than the souls
of the dead, to which men attributed a superhuman and
divine power. The recollection of one of these sacred
dead was always attached to the hearth-fire. In ador-
ing one, the worshipper could not forget the other.
Tljey were associated in the respect of men, and in
their prayers. The descendants, when they spoke of the
hearth-fire, recalled the name of the ancestor : " Leave
this place," says Orestes to his sister, "and advance
towards the ancient hearth of Pelops, to hear my
' Tibullus, II. 2. Horace, Odes, IV. 11. Ovid., Trist, III.
13 ; V. 5. Tlie Greeks gave to their domestic gods or heroes
the epithet of iipinrioi or i(irio«;foi.
' Plaut., Aulul., II. 7, 16 — In foco nostra Lari. Coluniolla,
XI. 1, 19 — Laremfocumque familiar em. Cicero, Pro Domo,
41 ; Pro Quintio, 27, 28.
•" Servius, in ^n.. III. 13i
* Virgil,, IX. 259; V. 744.
40 ANCIENT BELIEFS. BOOK I.
words." ' So, too, -^neas, speaking of the sacred fire
which he transports across the waters, designates it by
the name of the Lar of Assaracns, as if he saw in this
fire the soul of his ancestor.
The grammarian Serving, who was very learned in
Greek and Roman antiquities (which were studied
much more in his time than in the time of Cicero),
saj's it was a very ancient usage to bury the dead in
tlie houses; and he adds, "As a result of this custom,
they honor the Lares and Penates in their houses."
This expression establishes clearly an ancient relation
between the worship of the dead and the hearth-fire.
We may suppose, therefore, that the domestic fire was
in the beginning only the symbol of the worship of the
dead ; that under the stone of the hearth an ancestor
I'eposed ; that the fire was lighted there to honor him,
and that this lire seemed to preserve life in him, or
represented his soul as always vigilant.
This is merely a conjecture, and we have no proof
of it. Still it is certain that the oldest generations of
the race from which the Greeks and Romans sprang
worshipped both the dead and the hearth-fire — an an-
cient religion that did not find its gdds in physical
nature, but in man himself, and that has for its object
the a<loration of the invisible being which is in us, the
nioial : ud thinking power which animates and governs
our bodies.
This religion, afler a time, began to lose its power
over the soul ; it became enfeebled by degrees, but it
did not disappear. > Contemporary with the first ages
of the Aryan race, it became rooted so deeply in the
' Euripides, Orestes, 1140-1 ll2.
' Servius, in JEn., V. 84 ; VI. 152. See Plato, Minos, p. 315.
CHAP. IT. DOMESTIC RELIGION. 41
I
minds of this race that thd brilliant religion of the
Greek Olympus could not extirpate it; only Christianity
could do this. We shall see presently what a power-
ful influence this religion exercised upon the dotnestic
and social institutions of the ancients. It. was con-
ceivecl and established in that distant age when this
race was just forming its institutions, and determined
the direction of their progress.
CHAPTER IV.
The Domestic Beligiou.
We are not to suppose that this ancient religion
resembled those founded when men became more en-
lightened. For a great number of centuries the human
race has admitted no religious doctrine except on two
conditions : first, that it proclaimed but one god ; and,
second, that it was addressed to all men, and was
accessible to all, systematically rejecting no class or
race. But this primitive religion fulfilled neither of
these conditions. Not only did it not offer one only
god to the adoration of men, but its gods did not ac-
cept the adoration of all men. They did not offer
themselves as the gods of the human race. They did
not even resemble Brahma, who was at least the god
of one whole great caste, nor the Panhellenian Zeus,,
who was the god of an entire nation. In this primitive
religion each god could be adored only by one family.
Religion was purely domestic, j^
We must illustrate this important point; otherwise
the intimate relation that existed between this ancient
J
42 ANCIENT BELIEFS. BOOK ]
leligion and the constitution of the Greek and Romai
family may not be fully understood.
The worship of the dead in no way resembled tin
Christian worship of the saints. One of the first rule
of this worship was, that it could be offered by eacl
family only to those deceased persons who belongei
to it by blood. The funeral obsequies could be reli
giously performed only by the nearest relative. As ti
the funeral meal, which was renewed at stated seasons
the family alone had a right to take part in it, an(
every stranger was strictly excluded.' They believet
that the dead ancestor accepted no offerings save fron
bis own family; he desired no worship save from hii
own descendants. The presence of one who was no
of the family disturbed the rest of the manes. Th<
law, therefore, forbade a stranger to approach a tomb.
To touch a tomb with the foot, even by chance, was ai
impious act, after which the guilty one was expectec
to ,pacify the dead and puiify himself. The word bj
which the ancients designated the worship of the deac
is significant ; the Greeks said noTgiiiZsiv, the Roman!
said parentare. The reason of this was because th<
prayer and offering were addressed by each one only t(
his fathers. The worship of the dead was nothing mor<
than the worship of ancestors.^ Lucian, while ridicul
ing common beliefs, explains them clearly to us wher
• Cicero, Be Legib., II. 26. Varro, L. L., VI. 13 — Ferun
epulas ad sepulcrum quibus jus Hi parentare. Gaius, II. 5
6 — Si modo mortuifunus ad nos periineat. Plutarch, Solon.
' Pittacus omnino accedere quemquam vetat infunus aliorum
Cicero, De Legib., II. 26. Plutarch, Solon, 21. Demosthenes
in Timocr. Isaeus, I.
^ In the beginning at least; for later the cities had their loca
and national heroes, as we shall see.
«
CHAP, IV. DOMESTIC EBLIGION. 43
he says the man who has died without leaving a
son, receives no offerings, and is exposed to perpetual
hunger.'
In India, as in Greece, an offering could be made to
a dead person only by one who had descended from
him. The law of the Hindus, like Athenian law, for-
bade a stranger, even if he were a friend, to be invited
to the funeral banquet. It was so necessary that these
banquets should be offered by the descendants of the
dead, and not by others, that the manes, in their resting-
place, were supposed often to pronounce this wish:
" May there be successively born of our line sons who,
in all coming time, may offer us rice, boiled in millc,
honey, and clarified butter."'
Hence it was, that, in Greece and Rome, as in India,
it was the son's duty to make the libations and the
sacrifices to the ii^iifis of his father and of all his ances-
tors. To fail in this duty was to commit the grossest
act of impiety possible, since the interruption of this
worship caused the dead to fall from their happy state.
This negligence was nothing less than the crime of
parricide, multiplied as many times as there were an-
cestors in the family.
If, on the contrary, the sacrifices were always ac-
complished according to the rites, if the provisions
were carried to the tomb on the appointed days, then
the ancestor became a protecting god. Hostile to all
who had not descended from him, driving them from
his tomb, inflicting diseases upon them if they ap-
proached, he was good and provident to his own
family.
' Lucian, De Ludu.
' Laws o/Manu, III. 138; III. 274.
44 ANCIENT BELIEFS. BOOK :
There was a perpetual interchange of good office
between the living and the dead of each family, Th
ancestor received from his descendants a series o
funeral banquets, that is to say, the only enjoyment tha
was left to him in his second life. The descendan
received from the ancestor the aid and strength o
which he had need in this. The living could not d
without the dead, nor tlie dead without the living
Thus a powerful bond was established among all th
generations of the same family, which made • of it i
body forever inseparable.
Every family had its tomb, where its dead went t(
repose, one after another, always together. This torn!
was generally near the house, nor far from the door
"in order," says one of the ancients, " that the sons, ir
entering and leaving then* dwelling, might always meei
their fathers, and might always address them an invo
cation." ' Thus the ancestor remained in the midst of
his relatives ; invisible, but always present, he continuec
to make a part of the family, and to be its father. Im-
mortal, happy, divine, he was still interested in all of
his whom he had left upon the earth. He knew theii
needs, and sustained their feebleness; and he who still
lived, who labored, who, according to the ancient ex-
pression, had not yet discharged the debt of existence,
he had near him his guides and his supports — his
forefathers. In the midst of difficulties, he invoked
their ancient wisdom ; in grief, he asked consolation of
them ; in danger, he asked their support, and after a
fault, their pardon.
Certainly we cannot easily comprehend how a man
could adore his father or his ancestor. To make of
■ Eur^ides, Helena, 1163-1168.
CHAP, rv. DOMESTIC EELIGIOIf. . 45
man a god appears to us the reverse of religion. It is
almost as difficult for us to comprehend the ancient
creeds of these men as it would have been for them to
understand ours. But, if we reflect that the ancients
had no idea of creation, we shall see that the mystery
of generation was for them what the mystery of crea-
tion is for us. The generator appeared to them to be
a divine being ; and they adored their ancestor. This
sentiment must have been very natural and very strong,
for it appears as a principle of religion in the origin
of almost a,ll human societies.. We find it among the
Chinese as well as among the ancient Getse and Scyth-
ians, among the tribes of Afiica as well as among
those of the new world.'
The sacred fire, which was so intimately associated
with the worship of the dead, belonged, in its essential
character, properly to each family. It represented the
ancestors ; it was the providence of a family, and had
nothing in common with the fire of a neighboring
family, which was another providence.* Every fire pro-
tected its own and repulsed the stranger. The whole
of this religion was enclosed within the walls of each
house. The worship was not public. All the cere-
monies, on the contrary, were kept strictly secret.'
Performed in the midst of the family alone, th«y were
concealed from every stranger. The hearth was never
placed either outside the house or even near the outer
' Among the Etruscans and the Romans it was a custom for
every religious family to keep the images of its ancestors ranged
around the atrium. Were these images simple family portraits,
or were they idols?
' 'Earia naTQiia, focus patrius. So in the Vedas Agiii is
sometimes invoked as « domestic god.
» Isaeus, VIII. 17, 18.
46 ANCIENT BELIEFS. BOOK
door, where it would have been too easy to see.' Th
Greeks always placed it in an enclosure,'' which pn
tected it from the contact, or even the gaze, of th
profane. The Romans concealed it in the interior o
the house. All these gods, the sacred fire, the Lare
and the Manes, were called the consecrated gods, c
gods of the interior. To all the acts of this religio
secrecy was necessary.' If a ceremony was looke
upon by a stranger, it was disturbed, defiled, made ui
fortunate simply by this look.
There were neither uniform rules nor a commo
ritual for this domestic religion. Each family w£
most completely independent. No external power ha
I the right to regulate either the ceremony or the creec
There was no other priest than the father : as a pries
he knew no hierarchy. The pontifex of Rome, or th
archon of Athens, might, indeed, ascertain if the fathe
of a family performed all his religious ceremonies ; bi
he had no right to order the least modification of then
Suo quisque ritu sacrifida facial — such was the abs(
lute rule." Every family had its ceremonies, which wei
peculiar to itself, its particular celebrations, its formuk
of prayer, its hymns.* The father, sole interpreter an
sole priest of his religion, alone had the right to teac
it, and could teach it only to his son. The rites, th
forms of prayer, the chants, which formed an essentii
part of this domestic religion, were a patrimony, a sacre
property, which the family shai-ed with no one, an
' This enclosure was called ?g«os.
' Stoi iitijfioi, dii Penates.
' Cicero, De Arusp. Resp., 17.
■* Varro, De Ling. Lat., VII. 88.
" Hesiod, Opera, 763. Maorobius, Sat., I. 10. Cic, L
Legih., H. 11.
CHAP. IV. DOMESTIC EBLIGION. 47
which they were even forbidden to reveal to strangers.
It was the same in India. " I am strong against my
enemies," says the Brahmin, " from the songs which I
receive from my family, and which my father has trans-
mitted to me." '
Thus religion dwelt not in temples, but in the house ;
each house had its gods ; each god protected one fam-
ily only, and was a god only in one house. We cannot
reasonably suppose that a religion of this character was
revealed to man by the' powerful imagination of one
among them, or that it was taught to them by a priestly
caste. It grew up spontaneously in the human mind ;
its cradle was the family ; each family created its own
gods.
This religion could be propagated only by generation.
The father, in giving life to his son, gave him at the
same time his creed, his worship, the right to continue
the sacred fire, to offer the funeral meal, to pronounce
the fornmlas of prayer. Generation established a mys-
terious bond between the infant, who was born to life,
and all the gods of the family. Indeed, these gods
were his family — deal iy/eveXg ; they were of his blood
— Ocol aivaiftoi,,' The child, therefore, received at his
birth the right to adore them, and to offer them sac-
rifices; and later, when death should have deified him,
he also would be counted, in his turn, among these gods
of the family.
' Rig- Veda, Langlois' trans., v. i. p. 113. The Laws of
Manu often mention rites peculiar to each family. YII. 3 ;
IX. 7.
' Sophocles, Antig., 199; Ibid., 659. Corap. natqmoi fltoi in
Aristophanes, Wasps, 388; iEschylus, Pers., 404; Sophocles,
Electra, 411; fleoi yeri^Xioi, Plato, Laws, V. p. 729; Di Oeneris.
Ovid, Fast, II.
48 ANCIENT BELIEFS. BOOK 1
But we must notice tbis peculiaTi'ty — that the domes-
tic religion was transmitted only from male to male.
Tills was owing, no doubt, to the idea that genera-
tion was due entirely to the males.' The belief of
primitive ages, as we find it in the Vedas, and as we
find vestiges of it in all Greek and Roman law, was
that the repi-oductive power resided exclusively in ihe
father, The father alone possessed the mystei-ious
principle of existence, and transmitted the spark of
life. From this old notion it followed that the domestic
worship always passed fi-ora male to male ; that a woman
participated in it only through her father or her hus-
band ; and, finally, that after death women had not the
same part as men in the worship and the ceremonies
of the funei-al meal. Still other important conse-
quences in private law and in the constitution of the
family resulted from this: we shall see them as we
proceed.
' The Vedas call the sacred Are the cause of male posterity.
See the MUakchara, Oriannes' trans., p. 139,
BOOK SECOND.
THE FAMILY.
CHAPTER I,
Beligion was the constituent Principle of the ancient
Family.
Ib" we transport ourselves in thought to those an-
cient generations of men, we find in each house an
altar, and around this altar the family assembled. The
family meets every morning to address its first prayers
to the sacred fire, and in the evening to invoke it for n
last time. In the course of the day the members are
once more assembled near the fire for the meal, of
which they partake piously after prayer and libation.
In all these religions acts, hymns, which their fiithers
have handed down, are sung in common by the family.
Outside the hoUse, near at hand, in a neighboring
field, there is a tomb — the second home of this family.
There several generations of ancestors repose together ;
death has not separated them. They remain groui)ed
in this second existence, and coutinne to form an in
dissoluble family.'
' The use of family tombs by the ancients is incontestable; it
disappeared only when the beliefs relative to the worship of the
dead became obscured. The words Tut/io? naT^(j,o:, TMfog T.rir
4 49
y
50 THE FAMILY. BOOK I
Between the living part and the dead part of th
family there ia only tliis distance of a few steps whic
separates the house from the tomb. On certain dayi
which are determined for each one by his domesti
religion, the living assemble near th'^ir ancestors ; the
offer them the funeral ineal, pour ont milk and wine t
them, lay out cakes and fruits, or burn the flesh of
victim to them. In exchange for these offerings the;
ask protection; they call these ancestors their godf
and ask them to render the fields fertile, the housi
prosperous, and their hearts virtuous.
Generation alone wan not the foundation of thi
ancient family. "\Yhat proves this is, that the sister di(
not bear the same relation to the family as the brother
that the emancipated son and the married danghte:
ceased completely to form a part of the family ; and, ii
fine, several other important provisions of the Greel
TcQOYirojv, appear contiuiially in Greek writers, as tumuliis pa
trius or avitns, sepulcrum gentis, are found in Koman writers
See Demosthenes, ire ^uJmZ., 28; in Macart., IS. Lycurgus, t'j
Leoor., 25. Cicero, De Offic, 1. 17. De Legih., II. 22 — Mortuim
exto-a gentem inferri fas negant. Ovid, Trist., IV. 3, 45
Velleius, II. 119. Suetonius, Nero, 50; Tiberivs, 1. Digest
XI. 5; XVIII. 1, 6. There is an old anecdote that shows \wv
necessary it was thought to be that every one should be buriec
in the tomb of his family. It is related that the Lacedaemonians
when about to join battle with the Messenians, attached to theii
right arms their name, and those of their fathers, in order that, ir
case of death, each body might be recognized on the field of
battle, and transported to the paternal tomb. Justin, III. 5.
See JSschylus, Sept., 889 (914), ruifiov nax^imv laxai. The
Greek orators frequently refer to this custom : Isasus, Lysias,
or Demosthenes, wlien he wishes to prove that such a man be-
longs to a certain family, and has the right to inherit its property,
rarely fails to say that this man's father is buried in the tomb of
this family.
CHAP, i; RELIGION THE CONSTITUENT PRINCIPLE. 51
and Rofnah laws, that ^e shall have bcoasion to ex-
amine farther along.
Nor is the family principle natural affection. For
Greek and Roman law makes no account of this senti-
ment. The sentiihent may exist in the heart, but it
is not in the law. The father may have affection for
his daughter, but he cannot will her his property. The
laws of succession — that is tO' say, those laws which
most faithfully reflect the ideas that men had of the
family — are in open contradiction both with the order
of birth and with natural affection.'
The historians of Roman laws, having very justly
remarked that neither birth nor affection was the foun- /
datioii of the Roman family, have concluded that this ^
foundation must be found in the power of the father
or husband. They make a sort of piimordial institu- ^
tion of this power; but they do not explain how this
power was established, unless it was by the superiority
of strength of the husband over the wife, and' of the
father over the children. Now, we deceive ourselves
sadly when we thus place force as the origin of law.
We shall see farther on that the atithority of the father
or husband, far from having been a first cause, was-
itself an effect; it was derived from religion, and was
established by religioii. Superior strength, therefore,
was not the principle that established the family.
The members of the ancient family were united by
something more powerful than birth, affection, or j^hys- /
ical strength ; this was the religion of the sacred fire,
and of dead ancestors. This caused the family to form
' It must be underatood that we here speak of the most an-
cient law. We shall soon see that, at a later date, these early
laws were modified.
;
52 THE FAMILY. BOOK II
a single body, both in this life and in the next. The
ancient family was a religious rather than a natura]
J association ^ and we shall see presently that the wife
was counted in the family only after the sacred cere-
mony of marriage had initiated her into the worship ;
that the son was no longer counted in it when he had
renounced the worship, or had been emancipated; that,
on the other hand, an adopted son was counted a real
son, because, though he had not the ties of blood, he
had something better — a community of worship ; that
the heir who refused to adopt the worship of this fam-
ily had no right to the succession; and, finally, that
relationship and the right of inheritance were governed
not by birth, but by the rights of participation in the
worship, such as religion had established them. Re-
ligion, it is true, did not create the family; but certainly
it gave the family its rules; and hence it comes that
the constitution of the ancient family was so different
from what it would havei^been Lf it had owed its foun-
dation to natural affection.
The ancient Greek language has a very significant
word to designate a family. It is inlauov, a word
which signifies, literally, t/iat which is near a hearth.
A family was a group of persons whom religion per-
mitted to invoke th-e same sacred fire, and to offer the
funeral repast to the same ancestors.
CHAP H. MAEEIAGE. 53
CHAPTER II.
Marriage.
The first institution tliat the domestio religion estab-
iished, probably, was maniage.
We must remark that this worship of the sacred fire
and of ancestors, which was transmitted from male to
male, did not belong, after all, exclusively to man ;
woman had a part in it. As a daughter, she took part
in the religious acts of her father; as a wife, in those
of her liusband.
From this alone we see the essential character of the
conjugal union among the ancients. Two families live
side by side; but they have different gods. In one, a
young daughter takes a part, from her infancy, in the
religion of her father; she invokes his sacred fire;
every day she offers it libations. She surrounds it with
flowers and garlands on festal days. She asks its pro-
tection, and returns thanks for its favoi^ This paternal
fire is her god. Let a young man of the neighboring
family ask her in marriage, and something more is at
stake than to pass from one house to the other. She
must abandon the paternal fire, and henceforth invoke
that of the husband. She must abandon her religion,
practise other rites, and pronounce other prayers. She
must give up the god of her infancy, and put herself
under the protection of a god whom she knows not.
Let her not hope to remain faithful to the one while
honoring the other; for in this religion it is an im-
mutable principle that the same person cannot invoke
two sacred fires or two series of ancestors. "Prom the
64 THE FAMILY. BOOK JI.
hour of maniage," says one of the ancients, "the wife
has no longer anything in common with the domestic
religion of her fathers; she sacrifices at the hearth of
her husband." '
Marriage is, therefore, a grave step for the yonng girl,
and not less grave for the husband ; for this religion
requires that one shall have been born near the sacred
fire, in order to have the right to sacrifice to it. And
yet he is now about to bring a stranger to this hearth ;
with her he will perform the mysterious ceremonies of
his worship ; he will reveal the rites and formulas which
are the patrimony of his family. There is nothing more
precious than this heritage; these gods, these rites,
these hymns which he has received from his fathers,
are what protect him in this life, and promise him
riches, happiness, and virtue. And yet, instead of
keeping to himself this tutelary power, as the savage
keeps his idol or his amulet, he is going to admit a
woman to share it with liim.
Thus, when we penetrate the thoughts of these an-
cient men, we see of how great importance to them was
the conjugal union, and how necessary to it was the
intervention of religion. Was it not quite necessaiy
that the young girl should be initiated into the religion
that she was henceforth to follow by some sacred
ceremony ? Was not a sort of ordination or adoption
necessary for her to become a priestess of this sacred
fire, to which she was not attached by birth ?
Maniage wag this sacred ceremony, which was to
produce these important efiects. The Greek and Ro-
man writers habitually designate marriage by a word
indicative of a religious act.' Pollux, who lived in the
' Stephen of Byzantium, jtetjo.
' Qvett yvtfiov, sacrum nuptiale.
CHAP. II. MAEEIAGE. 55
time of the Antonines, but who was well instructed in
the ancient usages of his langaage^ says, that in ancient
times, instead of designating marriage by its particular
name, •i&fio;, thpy designated it simply by the word
tHoc, which signifies sacred ceremony,' as if marriage
had been, in those ancient times, the ceremony sacred
above all others.
Now, the religion that created marriage was not that
of Jupiter, of Juno, or of the other gods of Olympus.
The ceremony did not take place in a temple ; it was
performed in a house, and the domestic god presided.
When the religion of the gods of the sky became pre-
ponderant, men could not help invoking them also in
the prayers of marriage, it is true; it even became
habitual to go to the temple before the marriage, and
offer sacrifices to these gods. These sacrifices were
called the preludes of marriage ; ' but the principal and
essential part of the ceremony always took place before
the domestic hearth.
Among the Greeks the marriage ceremony consisted,
oo to speak, of three acts. The first took place before
the hearth of the father, iyyiiiyo-ts ; the third before the
hearth of the husband, lilog ; the second was the
passage from the one to the other, ■do/iinj/ij'
1. In the paternal dwelling, in the presence of the
future bridegroom, the father, surrounded ordinarily
• Pollux, III. 3, 38.
' HQoriXeia, Tt^oyafiia, PolIUX, III. 38.
' Homer, HI, XVIII. 391. Hesiod, Seutum, v. 275. Herod-
otus, VI. 129, 130. Plutarch, Theseus, 10 1 Lycurg., passim.
Solon, 20; Aristides, 20; Gr. Quest., 27. Deniosthcpes, in
Siephanum, II. Isseus, III. 39. Euripides, Selena, 722-725 ;
Fhen., 315. Harpocration, t. r'a/ii/'Aia. Pollux, III. c. 3. The
same usage among the Macedonians, Quiutus Curtius, VIII. 16.
56 THE FAMILY. BOOK II.
by his family, offers a sacrifice. The sacrifice con-
cluded, he declares — pronouncing a sacramental formu-
la;—that he gives his daughter to the young man.
This declaration is absolutely indispensable to the
marriage ; for the young girl would not be able to go
at once to worship at the hearth of her husband, if her
father had not already separated her from the pater-
tal hearth. To enable her to adopt her new religion,
she must be freed from every bond that attaches her
to her first religion.
2. The young girl is cnrried to the house of the hus-
band. Sometimes the husband himself conducts her.
In certain cities the duty of bringing her belongs to
one of those men who, among the Greeks, were clothed
with a sacerdotsl character, and who were called
heralds. The Lride was usually placed upon a car; her
face was cove: ud with a veil, and on her head was a
crown. The crown, as we shall often have occasion
to see, was used in all the ceremonies of this worship.
She was dressed in white. White was the color of the
vestments in all the religious acts. She was preceded
by a torch — the nuptial torch. For the whole dis-
tance they sang around her religious hymns, whose
refrain was S iSjUi^y, & i/iii'ais. This hymn they called
the hymeneal, and the importance of this sacred chant
was St) great that they gave its name to the whole
ceremony.
The biide dares not go of her own accord into her
new dwelling. Her husband must take her, and simu-
late a seizure by force. She must cry out, and the
women that accompany her must pretend to defend
her. Why this rite ? Is it a symbol of the modesty
of the bride ? This is hardly probable : the moment for
shame has not yet come ; for what is now to take place
CHAP, n MAEEIAGB. 57
is a veligious ceremony. Was it not to mark more
strongly that the wife, who was now to sacrifice to this
fire, had herself no right there, that she did not ap-
proach it of her own free will, and that the master of
the plnce and of the god introduced her by an act of
his power? However this may be, after a feigned
straggle, the husband raises her in his arms, and carries
her through the doorway, taking great care, however,
that her feet do not touch the sill.
What precedes is only a preparation, a prelude to
the ceremony. The sacred act now commences in the
bouse.
3. They approach the hearth; the wife is brought
into the presence of the domestic divinity. She is
sprinkled with the lustral water. She touches the
sacred fire. Prayers are repeated. Finally, the husband
and wife share between themselves a cake or a loaf.
This sort of light meal, which commences and ends
with a libation and a prayer, this sharing of nourish-
ment in presence of the fire, puts the husband and wife
in religious communion with each other, and in com-
munion with the domestic gods.
The Roman marriage closely resembled that of
Greece, and, like it, comprised three acts — traditio,
deductio in domum, confarreaHo.^
' Varro, L. L., 61. Dionysius of Halicarnassus, II. 25, 26.
Ovid, Fasi., II. 658. Plutarch, Ram. Quest., I. 29; Romul.,
15; Plin., N. B., XVIII. 3. Tacit. Ann., IV. 16; XI. 27.
Juvenal, Sat. X. 320-336. Gaius, Insl., I. 112. Uplian, IX.
Digest, XXIII. 2, 1. Festus, v. Eapi. Macrobius, Sat., I. 15.
Servius, ad ^n., IV. 168. The same custom among the Etrus-
cans, Varro, De Re Rust., II. 4. The same custom among the
ancient Hindus, Laws of Manu, III. 27-30, 172 ; V. 152 ; VIII.
227; IX. 194. Mitakchara, Orianne's trans., p. 166, 167, 236,
58 THE FAMILY. BOOK II.
1. The young giil quits the paternal hearth. As she
is not attiiched to this hearth by her own right, but
through the father of the family, the authority of the
father only can detach her from it. The tradition is,
therefore, an indispensable ceremony.
2. The young girl is conducted to the house of the
husband. As in Greece, she is veiled. She wears a
crown, and a nuptial torch precedes the cortege. Those
about her sing an ancient religious hymu. The words
of this hymn changed doubtless with time, accom-
modating themselves to the vaiiations of belief, or to
those of the language ; but the sacramental refrain
continued from age to age without change. It was
the word Talassie, a word whose sense the Komans of
Horace's time no more understood than the Greeks
understood the word ifdvai-e, and which was, probably,
the sacred and inviolable remains of an ancient formula.
The cortege stops before the house of the husband.
There the bride is presented with fire and water. The
fire is the emblem of the domestic divinity ; the water
is the lustral water, that serves the family for all
religious acts. To introduce the bride into the house,
violence must be pretendpfJ, as in Greece. The hus-
band must take her in his arms, and carry her over
the (Bill, without allowing her feet to touch it.
3. The bride is then led before the hearth, where the
Penates, and all the domestic gods, and the images of
ancestors, are grouped around the sacred fire. As in
Greece, the husband and wife oflfer a sacrifice, pouring
out a libation, pronouncing prayers, and eating a cake
of wheaten flour (pdnis farreusi)}
' We shall speak presently of other forms of marriage in use
among the Romans, in which religion had no part. Let it suffice
to say here, that the sacred marriage appears to us to be the
CHAP. II. MAEEIAGB. 59
This cake, eaten during the recitation of prayers, in
the presence and under the very eyes of the domestic
divinitiies, makes the union of the husband and wife
sacred. Henceforth they are associated in the same
worship. The wife has the same gods, the same rites,
the same prayers, the same festivals as her husband.
Hence this old definition of marriq,ge, which the jurists
haye preserved to us : Nupticp sunt divini juris et
kumani communicaHo ; and this other : Uxor sociq,
humancB rei atque divinee.^ This is because the wife
participates in the worship of the husband ; this wife
whom, according to the expression of Plato, the gods
themselves have introduced into the house.
The wife, thus married, also worships the dead; but
it is not to her own ancestors that she carries the fivner
ral repast. S,he no longer has this right. Marriage
has completely detached her from the family, and has
interrupted all the religious relations that she had with
it. Her offerings she carries to the ancestors of her
husband ; she is of their family ; they have becoine her
ancestors. Marriage has Ijeen for her a second bii'tli ;
she is henceforth the daughter of her husband ; J?^«<»
laco, say the jurists. One could not belong to two
fiamilies, or to two dornestic religions ; the wife belongs
entii'ely to her husbajidis family, and to his religion.
We shall see the consequences of this rule in the right
pf sqpcessiqn.
The institution of sacred marriage must be as old in
the Inf3p-European race as the domestic religion ; for
the one could not exist witbout the q^her. This religion
oldest; for it corresponds to the most ancient beliefs, and dis-
appeared only as tho?e beliefs died out.
' Digest, XXIII. title 2. Code, IX. 32, 4. Dionysiusi pf
Haliparnassus, II. 25 : JCoikuios xQVI^ii'^f"f ""' t^S^,^- Stephen
of Byzantium, a-ur^a.
60 THE FAMILY. BOOK H,
taught man that the conjagal union was something
more than a relation of the sexes and a fleeting affeo-
tion, and united man and wife by the powerful bond of
the same worship and the same belief. The marriage
ceremony, too, was so solemn, and produced eflfects so
grave, that it is not surprising tliat these men did not
think it permitted or possible to have more than one
wife in each house. Such a religion could not admit
of polygamy.
We can understand, too, that such a marriage was
indissoluble, and that divorce was almost impossible.
The Roman law did indeed permit the dissolution of
the marriage by coemptio, or by usus. But the dissolu-
tion of the religious marriage was very difficult. For
that, a new sacred ceremony was necessary, as religion
alone could separate what religion had united. The
effect of the confarreatio could be destroyed only by
the diffarreatio. The husband and wife who wished
to separate appeared for the last time before the com-
mon hearth ; a priest and witnesses were present. As
on the day of marriage, a cake of wheaten flour was
presented to the husband and wife.' But, instead of
sharing it between them, they rejected it. Then, in-
stead of prayers, they pronounced formulas of a strange,
severe, spiteful, frightful character," a sort of maledic-
tion, by which the wife renounced the worship and
gods of the husband. From that moment the religious
bond was broken. The community of worship having
ceased, every other common interest ceased to exist,
and the marriage was dissolved.
■ Festus, T. Diffarreatio. Pollux, III. c. 3 : Icnonoun}].
We read, in an inscription, Sacerdos confarreaiionum et diffar-
reationum. Orelli, No. 2648.
* 0qixi>iri, ttXXixoTa, axuSqAna. Plutarch, Som. Quest , 60.
CHAP., in. CONTINUITY OF THE FAMILY. 61
CHAPTER III.
Continuity of the Family. Celibacy forbidden. Divorce
in Case of Sterility. Inequality between the Son and
Daughter.
The belief relative to the dead, and to the worship
that was due them, founded the ancient family, and
gave it the greater part of its rules. We have seen
above that man, after death, was reputed a happy and
divine being, but on the condition that the living con-
tinued to ofiFer him the funeral repasts. If these offer-
ings ceased, the dead ancestor fell to the rank of an
unhappy and malevolent demon. For when these
ancient generations began to picture a future life to
themselves, they had not dreamed of rewards and pun-
ishments ; they imagined that the happiness of the
dead depended not upon the life led in this state of
existence, but upon the way in which their descendants
treated them. Every father, therefore, expected of his
posterity that series of funeral repasts which was tg,-
assure to his manes repose and happiness.
This opinion was the fundamental principle of do-
mestic law among the ancients. From it followed, in
the first place, this rule, that every family must per-
petuate itself forever. It was necessary to the dead
that the descendants should not die out. In the tomb
where they lived this was the only inquietude which
they experienced. Their only thought, their only in-
terest, was, that there should be a man of their blood to
carry them oflferings at the tomb. The ' Hindu, 'too.
62 THE FAMILY. BOOK 1
believed that the dead repeated continually, "Mi
there be born in our line sons who shall bring us ric
milk, and honey." The Hindu also had this sayinj
"The extinction of a family causes the ruin of the r
ligion of this family ; the ancestors, depiived of the offe
in'g of cakes, fall into the abode of the unhappy." ' Tl
men of Italy and Greece long held to the same notior
If they have not left us in their writings an opinion i
clearly expressed as in the old books of the East, the
laws, at least, remain to attest their ancient opinion
At Athens the law made it the duty of the first magi
trate of the city to see that no family should becon
extinct.'' In the same way, the Roman law made pr
vision that no family should fail and become extinci
We read in the discourse of an Athenian orate
" There is no man who, knowing that he must die,
so careless about himself as to wish to leave his fami
without descendants ; for then there would be no oi
to render him that woi-ship that is due to the dead.'
Every one, therefore, had an interest in leaving
son after him, coiivinced that his immortal happinei
depended upon it. It was even a duty towards thoi
ancestors whose happiness could last no longer ths
the family lasted. The Laws of Manu call the olde
son " the one who is begotten for the accomplishmei
of a duty."
/ Here we touch upon one of the most remarkab
I characteristics of the ancient family. The religion thi
Vhad founded it required that it should never peiish.
When a family becomes extinct, a worship dies ot
We must take these families at a time before the belie
' Bhagavad-Gita, I. 40. « Isaeus, VII. 30-32.
" Cicero, De £egib.,ll. 19. * Isseus, VII. 30.
CHAP. in. CELIBACY FOKBIDDEN. 63
had yet been altered. Each one of them posseBsed a
religion and gods, a pi'ecious trust, over which it was
required to watch. The greatest misfortune that its
piety had to fear, was that its line of descendants might
cease and come to an end ; for then its religion would
disappear from the earth, its fire would be extinguished,
and the whole series of its dead would fall into obliv-
ion and eternal misery. The great interest of human
life was to continue the descent, in order to continue
the worship.
In view of these opinions, celibacy was a grave im- y
piety and a misfortune ; an impiety, because one who
did not marry put the happiness of the manes of the
family in peril ; a misfortune, because he himself would
receive no woi'ship after his death, and could not know
" what the manes enjoyed." Both for himself and for
his ancestors it was a sort of damnation.
We can easily believe that in the absence of laws
such a belief would long be sufficient to prevent celi-
bacy. But it appears, moreover, that, as soon as there
were laws, they pronounced celibacy to be wrong, and
a punishable oftence. Diohysius of Halicarnassus,
who had searched the ancient annals of Biome, asserts
that he had seen an old law which required young
people to marry.' Cicero's treatise on the laws — a
treatise which almost always reproduces, under a philo-
sophic form, the ancient laws of Rome — contains a
law which forbids celibacy." At Sparta, the legislation
of Lycurgus deprived^ the man who did not marry of
all the rights of citizenship.' We know from many
anecdotes, that when celibacy ceased to be forbidden
' Dionysiu8 of Halicarnassus,. IX. 22.
» Cicero, De Legib., III. 2.
' Plutarch, Lycurg., Apoth. of the Lacedamonians.
04 THE FAMILY. BOOK H.
by laws, usage still forbade it. Finally, it appears
from a passage of Pollux, that in many Greek cities
the law punished celibacy as a crime.' This was in
accordance with the ancient belief: man did not belong
to himself; he belonged to the family. He was one
member in a series, and the series must not stop with
him. He was not born by chance ; he had been intro-
duced into life that he might continue a worship ; he
must not give up life till he is sure that this worship
will be continued after him.
But to beget a son is not sufficient. The son who is
to perpetuate the domestic religion must be the fruit
of a religious marriage. The bastard, the natural son,
he whom the Greeks called vddog, and the Romans
spurius, could not perform the part which religion
assigned to the son. In fact, the tie of blood did not
of itself alone constitute the family ; the tie of a com-
mon worship had to be added. Now, the son born of
^ a woman who had not been associated in the worship
of the husband by the ceremony of marriage could not
himself take any part in the worship.' He had no
right to offer the funeral repast, and the family was
not perpetuated for him. "We shall see, farther on,
that for the same reason he had not the right of in-
heritance.
Marriage, then, was obligatory. Its aim was not
/ pleasure; its principal object was not the union of two
! beings who were pleased with each other, and who
1 wished to go united through the pleasures and the
\ trials of life. The effect of marriage, in the eyes of
\ religion and of the laws, was the union of two beings
' Pollux, Til. 48.
' Isseus, VII. Demosthenes, in Macart.
CHAP. ni. DITOKCE IN CASE OP STERILITY. 65
in the same domestic worship, in order to produce from
them a third who would be qualified to continue the
worship. We see this plainly by the sacramental
formula that was pronounced in the act of marriage.
Ducere uxorem liberum qucerendbrum causa was the
Roman expression; Tialdov in' diQoia ynjalhiv was the
Greek.'
This marriage having been contracted only to per-
petuate the family, it seemed just that it should be
broken if the wife was sterile. The right of divorce, in
this case, always existed among the ancients ; it is
even possible that divorce was an obligation. In India
religion piSscribed that the sterile woman should be re-
placed by another at the end of eiglit years.'^ That tlie
duty was the same in Greece and Rome, there is no
formal text to prove. Still Herodotus meiitions two
kings of Sparta who were constr.iined to repudiate
their wives on account of sterility.'' As to Rome, every
one knows the history of Carviiius Ruga, whose divorce
is the first of which the Roman annals make mention.
"Carviiius Ruga," says Aulus Gellius, " a man of rank,
separated from his wife by divoi'ce because he could
not have children by her. He loved. her tenderly, and
had no reason to complain of her conduct; but he sac-
rificed his love to the sanctity of his oath, because he
had sv\ orn (in the formula of marriage) that he took
her to wife in order to have children." *
Religion demanded. that the family should never bc-
' Menander, /r. 185, ed. Didot. Alciphron,. I. 16. Msa\\.,
Agam,., 1166, ed. Hermann.
' Laws of Marm,lS.. 8\.-
3 Herodotus, V. 39; VI. 61.
< Aulus Gellius, IV. 3. Valerius Maximus, II. 1, 4. Dionjrs.,
II. 25.
5
66 THE FAMILY. BOOK H.
come extinct; all affection and all natural right had
to give way before this absolute rule. If the sterility
of a marriage was due to the husband, it was no less
necessary that the family should be continued. In that
case, a brother or some other relative of the husband
had to be substituted in his place. The child born of
such a connection was 'held to be the son of the hus-
band, and continued his worship. Such were the rules
among the ancient Hindus. We find them again in
the laws of Athens, and in those of Sparta.' So pow-
erful was the empire of this religion ! So much did
religious duty surpass all others !
For a still stronger reason, ancient laws prescribed
the marriage of the widow, when she had had no chil-
dren, with the nearest relative of her husband. The
son born of such a union was reputed to be the son of
the deceased.' The birth of a daughter did not fulfil
the object of the marriage; indeed, the daughter could
not continue the worship, for the reason that on the
day of her marriage she renounced the family and wor-
ship of her father, and belonged to the family and
religion of her husband. The family, like the worship,
was continued only by the males — a capital fact, the
consequences of which we shall see farther on.
It was, therefore, the son who was looked for, and
who was necessary; he it was whom the family, the
ances^tovs, and the sacred fire demanded. "Through
liim," according to the old laws of the Hindus, " a father
pays the debt due to the manes of his ancestors, and
assures immortality to himself." This son was not less
' Xenophon, Gov. of the Laced. Plutarch, Solon, 20. Xoivs
ofManu, IX. 121.
= Laws of Manu, IX. 69, 146. The same ia true of the
Hebrews- Deuteron., 28.
CHAP. in. IWEQUALrfT OP SOIT AKD DAUGHTEE. 67
precious in the eyes of the Greeks ; for hiter he was to
perform the sacrifices, offer the funeral repast, and
preserve by his worship the domestic religion. In
accordance with this idea, old ^schylus calls the son
the savior of the paternal hearth."
The entrance of this son into the family was signal-
ized by a religious act. First, he had to be accepted
by the father, who, as master and guardian of the
hearth, and as a representative of his ancestors, had to
decide whether the new comer was or was not of the
family. Birth formed only the physical bond ; the
declaration of the father formed the religions and moral
bond. This formality was equally obligatory in Greece,
in Rome, and in India.
A sort of initiation was also required for the son, as
we have seen it was for the daughter. This took place
a short time after birth — the ninth day at Rome, the
tenth in Greece, the tenth or twelfth in India.' On
that day the father assembled the family, assembled
witnesses, and offered a sacriiice to his fire. The child
was presented to the domestic gods; a female carried
him in her arms, and ran, carrying him, several times
round the sacred fire.' This ceremony had a double
object; first, to purify the infant — that is to say, to free
him from the stain which the ancients supposed he had
contracted by the mere fact of gestation ; an.d, second,
to initiate him into the domestic worship. From this
moment the infant was admitted into this sort of sacred
society or small church that was called the family. He
possessed its religion, he practised its rites, he was
' Msch., Choeph., 264 (262).
* Aristophanes, Birds, 922. Demosthenes, in Bosot.,p. 1016.
Macrobius, Sat., I. 17. Laws of Manu, II. 30.
^ Plato, Thecetetus. Lysias, in Harpocration, v. 'AiiipiJQofi n.
68 THE FAMILT. BOOK II.
qualified to repeat its prayers ; he honored its ances-
tors, and at a later period he would himself become
an honored ancestor.
CHAPTER IV.
Adoption and Emancipation.
Thb duty of perpetuating the domestic worship
was the foundation of the law of adoption among the
ancients. The same religion which obliged a man to
many, which pronounced a divorce in case of sterility,
which, in case of impotence or of premature death^
substituted a relative in ])lace of the husband, still
offered to a family one final resource to escape the so
much dreaded misfortune of extinction ; this resource
was the right of adoption. "He to whom nature has
denied a son can adopt one, so that the funeral cere-
monies-may not cease." Thus speaks the old legislator
of the Hindus.' We have a curious plea of an Athe-
nian orator in a case where the legitimacy of a son's
adoption was contested. The defendant shows us first
the motive for which one adopted a son. "Menecles,"
he says, " did not wish to die without children ; he was
desirous of leaving behind him some one to bury him,
and in after time to perform the ceremonies of the
funeral worship." He then goes on to show what will
happen if the tribunal annuls his adoption ; what will
happen, not only to himself, but to the one who has
adopted him. Menecles is dead, and still it is the in
terest of Menecles that is at stake. « If yon annul my
' Laws of Manu, 130 10.
CHAP. IV. ADOPTION AND EMANCIPATION. 69
adoption, you will leave Meneeles, who is dead, with-
out a son ; and consequently no one will perform the
sacrifices in his honor, no one Avill offer him the funeral
repast, and thus he will be without worship." '
To adopt a son, was then, to watch over the per-
petuity of the domestic religion, the safety of the
sacred fire, the continuation of the funeral offerings',
and the repose of the manes of the ancestors. Tliere
being no reason for adoption, except the necessity of
preventing the extinction of a worship, it was per-
mitted only to one who had no son. The law of the
Hindus is formal on this point." That of the Athe-
nians is not less so ; all the orations of Demosthenes
against Leochares are proof of this.^ No particular
passage proves that this was the case in the old Roman
law, and we know that in the time of Gaius a man
might have at the same time sons by nature and sons
by adoption. It appears, however, that this point was
not admitted as legal in Cicero's time ; for in one of
his orations the orator expresses himself thus: "What
is the law concerning adoption ? Why, that he may
adojit children who is no longer able to have children
himself, and who failed of having them when he was
of an age to expect it. To adopt is to seek, by regular
and sacerdotal law, that which by the ordinary process
of nature he is no longer able to obtain." * Cicero
attacks the adoption of Clodius, taking the ground that
the man who has adopted him already has a son, and
' Isseus, II. 10-46.
' Laws of Manu, X. 168, 174. Dattaca- Sandriea, Oriaii<
ne 9 trans., p. 260.
' See also Isseus, II. 11-14.
< Cicero, Pro Domo, 13, 14. Aulus Gellius, V. 19.
70 THE FAMILY. BOOK n.
he declares that this adoption is contrary to sacer-
dotal law.
When a son was adopted, it was necessary, first of
all, that he should be initiated into a form of worship,
"introduced into a domestic religion, brought into the
presence of new Penates." ' Adojition, therefore, was
accompanied by a ceremony very like that which took
place at the birth of a son. In this way the new comer
was admitted to the hearth, and associated in the new
religion. Gods, sacred objects, rites, prayers, all be-
came common between him and his adopted father.
They said of him. In sacra transiit — He has passed
to the worship of the new family.'
By this very ceremony he renounced the worship of
the old one." We have seen, indeed, that accordr
ing to this ancient belief, the same man could not sac-
rifice at two hearths, or honor two series of ancestors.
Admitted to a new house, the old became foreign to
him. He no longer had anything in common with the
hearth near which he was born, and could no longer
offer the funeral repast to his own ancestors. The ties
of birth were broken ; the new tie of a common worship
took the ascendency. The man became so completely
a stranger to his own family, that, if he happened to
die, his natural father had no right to take charge of
the funeral, or to conduct the procession. The adopted
son could not return again to the old family; or, at
most, the law permitted this only when, having a son,
he left that son to take his place in the adoptive fam-
ily. They considered that, the perpetuity of this family
' 'Eni TCI icglt aytir. Is£ens, VII. Venire in Sacra, Cicero,
Pro Domo, 13 ; in Penates adsdscere, Tacitus, Hist., I. 15.
' Valerius Maximus, VII. 7.
' Amissis sacris paternis, Cicero, ibid.
OHAP. V. OB" KIKSHIP. 71
being thus assured, he might leave it; but, in tliis
case, he severed all the ties that bound him to his
own son.'
Emancipation corresponded, as a correlative, to adop-
tion. In order that a son might enter a new family, it
was necessary that he should be able to leave the old ;
that is to say, that he should be emancipated from its
religion." The principal effect of emancipation was the
renunciation of the worship of the family in which one
was born. The Romans designated this act by the
very significant name of sacrorum detestatio."
CHAPTER V.
Of Einship. Of what the Romans called Agnation.
Plato says that kinship is the community of the
same domestic gods." When Demosthenes wishes to
prove that two men are relatives, he shows that they
practise the same religious rites, and offer the funeral
repast at the same tomb. Indeed, it was the domestic
religion that constituted i-elationship. Two men could
call themselves relatives when they had the same gods,
the same sacred fire, and the same funeral repast.
Now, w© have already observed that the right to
' Isseua, VI. 44; X. 11. Demosthenes, against Leochares.
Antjphon., Frag., 15. Comp. Laws of Mamu, IX. 142.
" Consueiudo apud antiquos fuit ut qui in familiam irans-
iret prius se abdicaret ah ea in qua natus fiierai. Servius, ad
JEn., 11. UG.
" Aulus Gelllus, XV. 27.
• Plato, Laws, V. p. 729.
72 THE FAMILY. BOOK II.
offer sacrifices to the sacred fire was transmitted only
from male to male, and that the worship of the dead
was addressed to the ascendants in the male line only.
It followed from this rule that one could not be related
through females. In the opinion of those ancient gen-
erations, a female transmitted neither being nor wor-
ship. The son owed all to the father. Besides, one
could not belong to two families, or invoke two fires ;
the son, therefore, had no other religion or other family
than that of the father.' How could there have been a
maternal family? His mother herself the day on which
^he saci'ed rites of mnrriage were performed, had abso-
lutely renounced her own family; from that time she
had offered the funeral repast to her husband's ances-
tors, as if she had become their daughter, and she liad
no longer offerc 1 it to her own ancestors, because she
■was no longer i-onsidered as descended from tbem. She
had preserved neither religious nor legal connection
with the family in which she was born. For a still
stronger reason her son had nothing in common with
this family.
The foundation of relationship was not birth ; it
was worship. This is seen clearly in India. There the
chief of the family, twice each month, offers the funeral
repast; he presents a cake to the manes of his father,
anolhei' to his paternal grandfather, a third to his great-
graudtiither; never to those from whom he is descended
on the mother's side, neither to his mother, nor to his
mother's father. Afterwards, ascending still higher, but
always in the same line, he makes an offering to fourth,
fifth, and sixth ascendant. The offering to these last is
' Patris, non matris, familiam sequiiur. Digest, 60, tit
16, § 196.
CHAP. V. DP EO&IAN AGNATION. 73
lighter; it i.s a libaliim of water and a few grains of
rice. Such is the funeral repast; and it is according
to the accomplishment of these rites that relationsliip
is reckoned. When two men, who offer their funeral
repasts separately, can, each one, by ascending through
a series of six ancestors, find one who is common to
both, they are akin. They are called samanodacas,
if the common ancestor is one of those to whom they
offer only the libation of water ; sapindas, if he is of
those to whom the cake is presented.' Counting ac-
cording to our usage, the relation of the sapindas
would go to the seventh degree, and that of the sa-
manodacas to the fourteenth. In both cases the rela-
tionship is shown by the fact that both make an offer-
ing to the same ancestor; and we see that in this
system the relationship through females cannot be
admitted.
The case was the same in the West. There has
been much discussion as to what the Roman jurists
understood by agnation. But the problem is of easy
solution as soon as we bring agnation and the domestic
religion together. Just as this religion was transmitted
only from male to male, so it is attested by all the
ancient jurists, that two men can be " agnates " only
when, ascending from male to male, they were found
to have common ancestors.' The rule for agnation
was, then, the same as that for worship. There was
between these two things a manifest relation. Agna-
tion was nothing more than relationship such as re-
ligion had originally established it.
' Laws of Manu, y. 60; MitaJcchara, Ormnne'a trans., -p. 213.
'■' Gaius, 1. 156 ; III 10. Ulpian, 26. Institutes of Tustinian,
111. 2; III. 5.
74 THE FAMILY. BOOK II
To rendei this trath clearer, let us trace the genea
logical table of a Roman family.
L. Cornelius Scipio, died about 250 B. C.
Fublius Scipio. Cn. Scipio.
Luc. Scipio Asiaticua. P. Scipio Africanus. P. Scipio Nasica
I , ! , I
Luc. Scipio Asiaticus. P. Scipio. Cornelia, P. Scip. Nasica
I I wife of Sempr. Gracchus. |
Scipio Asiaticus. Scip. ^milianus. { Scip. Serapio,
Tib. Sempr. Gracchus.
In this table, the fifth generation, which lived to
wards the year 140 B. C, is represented by four per
sonages. Were they all akin? According to oui
modern ideas on this subject, they were ; in the opinion
of the Romans, all were not. Now, let us inquire if
they all had the same domestic worship; that is tc
say, if they all made offerings to the same ancestors,
Let us suppose the third Scipio Asiaticns, who alone
remains of his bi"anch, offering the funeral repast oq a
particular day ; ascending from male to male, he finds
for the third ancestor Publius Scipio. Again, Scipio
.i^milianus, offeiing his sacrifice, will meet in the series
of his ascendants this same PubUus Scipio. Scipio
Asiaticus and Scipio ./Smilianus are, therefore, related to
each other. Among the Hindus they would be called
sapindas. On the other hand, Scipio Serapio has foi
a fourth ancestor L. Cornelius Scipio, who is also the
fourth ancestor of Scipio jEmiUanus. They are, there-
fore, akin. Among the Hindus they would be called
samanodacas. In the judicial and religious language
of the Romans, these three Scipios are agnates — the
two first are agnates in the sixth degree, the third U
their agnate in the eighth degree.
The case is not the same with Tiberius Gracchus
CHAP. V. OF SOMAN AGNATION. 75
This man, who, according to our modern customs,
■would be nearest related to Scipio ^^railianus, was not
related to him in the remotest degree. It was of small
account, indeed, for Tiberius that he was the son of
Cornelia, the daughter of the Scipios. Neither he nor
Cornelia herself belonged to that family, in a religious
point of view. He has no other ancestors than the
Sempronii; it is to them that he offers the funeral re-
past ; in ascending the series of liis ancestors he never
comes to a Scipio. Scipio ^milianns and Tiberius
Gracchus, therefore, are not agnates. The tie of blood
does not suffice to establish this relationship ; a com-
mon worship is necessary.
We can now understand why, in the eyes of the
Roman law, two consanguineous brothers were agnates,
while two uterine brothers were not. Still we cannot
say that descent by males was the immutable principle
on which relationship was founded. It was not by
birth, it was by worship alone, that the agnates were
recognized. The son whom emancipation had detached
from the worship was no longer the agnate of his
father. The stranger who had been adopted, that is
to say, who had been admitted to the worship, became
the agnate of the one adopting him, and even of the
whole family. So true is it that it was religion that
established relationship.
There came a time, indeed, for India and Greece, as
well as for Rome, when relationship of worship was no
longer the only kind admitted. By degrees, as this old
religion lost its hold, the voice of blood spoke louder, and
the relationship of birth was recognized in law. The Ro-
mans gave the name ofcognatio to this sort of relation-
ship, which was absolutely independent of the rules
of the domestic religion. When we read the jurists
76 THE FAMILY. BOOK II.
from Cicero to Justinian, we see the two systems as
rivals of each other, and contending in the domain of
law. Bat in the time of the Twelve Tables, agnation
was the only relationship known, and this alone con-
ferred the right of inheritance. We shall see, farther
on, that the case was the same among the Greeks
CHAPTER VI,
The Right of Property.
Heee is an institution of the ancients of which we
must not form an idea from anything that we see
around us. The anoients founded the right of property
on principles different from those of the present gen-
eration ; as a result, the laws by which they guaranteed
it are sensibly different from ours.
We know that there are races who have never snc-
oeeded in establishing among themselves the right of
private property, while others have reached this stage
only after long and painful experience. It is not,
indeed, an easy problem, in the origin of society, to
decide whether the individual may appropriate the
soil, and establish such a bond between his being and
a portion of the earth, that he can say, This land is
mine, this is the same as a part of me. The Tartars
have an idea of the right of property in a case of flocks
or herds, but they cannot understand it when it is a
question of land. Among the ancient Germans the
earth belonged to no one ; every year the tribe assigned
to each one of its members a lot to cultivate, and the
lot was changed the foJVowing year. The German was
CHAP. VI. THE EIGHT OF PEOPERTY. 77
proprietor of the harvest, but not of the hind. ' The
case is still the same among a part of the Semitic race,
and among some of the Slavic nations.
On the other hand, the nations of Greece and Italy,
from the earliest antiquity, always held to the ide.i of
private property. We do not find an age when the
soil was common among them; ' nor do we find any-
thing that resembles the annual allotment of land which
was in vogue among the Germans. Arid here we note
a I'einarkable fact. While the races that do not accord
to the individual a property in the soil, allow, him_ at
least a right to thefruits of his labor, — that is to say, to
his harvest, — precisely the contrary custom prevailed
among the Greeks. In many cities the citizens were ]
required to store their crops in common, or at least the /
greater part, and to consume them in common. The/
individual, therefore, was not the master of the corn
which he had gathered; but, at the same time, by, a y
singular contradiction, he had an absolute property 'in
the soil. To him the land was more than the harvest.
It appears that among the Greeks the conception of
pyiyate property was developed exactly contrary to
what appears to.be the natural order. It was not applied
to the harvest first, and to the soil afterwards, but fol-
lowed the inverse order.
' Some historians have expressed the opinion that at Kome
property was at first public, arid did not become private till
Kuma's reign. This error comes from a false interpretation of
three passages ofPlutarch (Numa, 16), Cicero (Republic, II. 14),
and .Bionysius of Halicarnassus (II. 74). These three authors
Bay, it is true, that Numa distributed lands to the citizens, but
they indicate very clearly that these lands were conquests of his
predecessor, agri quos bello Romulus ceperat. As to the Roman
soil itself — ager Bomanus — it was private property from the
origin of the city.
78 THE FAMILY. BOOK 11
There are three tilings which, from the most ancient
times, we find founded and solidly established in these
Greek and Italian societies: the domestic religion;
the family ; and the right of property — three things
which had in the beginning a manifest relation, and
which appear to have been inseparable. The idea of
private property existed in the religion itself. Every
family had its hearth and its ancestors. These gods
could be adored only by this family, and protected it
alone. They were its property.
Now, between these gods and the soil, men of the
early ages saw a mysterious relation. Let us first take
the hearth. This altar is the symbol of a sedentary
life ; its name indicates this.' It must be placed upon
the ground; once established, it cannot be moved.
The god of the family wishes to have a fixed abode ;
materially, it is difBcult to transport the stone on
which he shines ; religiously, this is more difficult still,
and is permitted to a man only when hard necessity
presses him, when an enemy is pursuing him, or when
the soil cannot support him. When they establish
the hearth, it is with the thought and hope that it
will always remain in the same spot. The god is
installed there not for a day, not for the life of one man
merely, but for as long a time as this family shall en-
dure, and there remains any one to support its fire by
sacrifices. Thus the sacred fire takes possession of the
soil, and makes it its own. . It is the god's property.
" And the family, which through duty and religion
remains grouped around its altar, is as much fixed to
, the soil as the altar itself. The idea of domicile follows
' 'Earla, "orijiti, stare. See Plutarch, De prima frigido, 21 ;
Macrob., I. 23 ; Ovid, Fast., VI. 299.
OHAP. VI. THB EIGHT OF PBOPEETT. 79
naturally. The family is attached to the altar, the
altar is attached to the soil ; an intimate relation, there-
fore, is established between the spil aud the family.
There must be his permanent home, which he will not
dream of quitting, unless an unforeseen necessity con-
strains him to it. Like the hearth, it will always
occupy this spot. ' This spot belongs to it, is its prop-
erty, the property not simply of a man, but of a family,
whose different members must, one after another, be
born and die here.
Let us follow the idea of the ancients. Two sacred
fires represent two distinct divinities, who are never
united or confounded ; this is so true, that even inter-
marriage between two families does not establish an
alliance between their gods. The sacred fire must be
isolated — that is to say, completely separated from all
that is not of itself; the stranger must not approach
it at the moment when the ceremonies of the worship
are performed, or even be in sight of it. It is for this
reason that these gods are called the concealed gods,
/ui!/(ot, or the interior gods, Penates, In order that
this religious rule may be well observed, there must be
an enclosure around this hearth at a certain distance.
It did not matter whether this enclosure was a hedge,
a wall of wood, or one of stone. Whatever it was, it
marked the limit which separated the domain of one
sacred fire from that of another. This enclosure was
deemed sacred.' It was an impious act to pass it.
The god watched over it, and kept it under his care.
They, therefore, applied to this god the epithet of
^gxiios.' This enclosure, traced and protected by re-
' 'Eqxoe [eqov. Sophocles, Traehin., 606.
' At an epoch when this ancient worship was almost eflFaced
by the younger religion of Zeus, and when they associated him
80 THE FAMI1.Y. BOOK II.
ligion, was the most certain emblem, the most un-
doubted mark of the right of property.
Let us return to the primitive ages of the Aryan
race. The sacred enclosure, which the Greeks call
e§Koc^ and the Latins herctum, was the somewhat spa-
cious enclosure in which the family had its house,
its flocks, and the small field that it cultivated. In
the midst rose the protecting fire-god. Let us descend
to the succeeding ages. The tribes have reached
Greece and Italy, and have built cities. The dwellings'
are brought nearer together: they are not, however,
contiguous. The sacred enclosure still exists, but is
of smaller proportions; oftenest it is reduced to a low
wall, a ditch, a furrow, or to a mere open space, a few
feet wide. But in no case could two houses be joined
to each other ; a party wall was supposed to be an im-
possible thing. The same wall could not be common
to two houses; for then the sacred enclosure of the
gods would have disappeared. At Rome the law fixed
two feet and a half as the widlh of the free space,
which was always to separate two houses, and this
space was consecrated to "the god of the enclosure."'
A result of these old religious rules was, that a com-
munity of property was never established among the
with the fire-god, the new god assumed the title of Ijztro;. It
is not less true that, in the heginning, the real protector of the
enclosure was the domestic god. Dionysius of Halicarnassus
asserts this (I. 68), when he Says that the fltoi tQxiioi are the
same as the Penates. This follows, moreover, from a compari-
son of a passage of Pausanias (IV. 17) with a passage of Eu-
ripides {Troad., 17), and one of Virgil {JEn., II. 514) ; the three
passages relate to the same fact, and show that Zcif iijxtrog was
no other than the domestic Sre.
■ ' Festus, V. Ambitus. Varro, L. L., V. 22. Servius, ad
^n., II. 469.
CHAP. VI. THE RIGHT OF EROPEETT. 81
aneients. A phalansteiy was never known among
them. Even Pytbaigoraa did not succeed in establish-
ing institutions which the most intimate religion of
men resisted. Neither do we find, at any epoch in
the life of the ancients, anything that resembled that
multitade of villages so general in France during the
twelfth century. Every family, having its gods and
its worship, was required to have its particular p'ace
on the soil, its isolated domicile, its property.
According to the Greeks,, the sacred fire taught mon
to build houses; ' and, indeed, men who were fixed by
their religion to one spot, which they believed it their
duty not to quit, would soon begin to think of raising
in that place some solid structui-e. The tent covers
the Arab, the wagon the Tartar; but a family that has
a domestic hearth has need of a permanent dwelling;
The stone house soon succeeds the mud cabin or the
wooden hut. The family did not build for the life of a
single man, but for generations that were to succeed
each other in the same dwelling.
The house was always placed in the sacred en-
closure. Among the Greeks^ the square which com-
posed the enclosure was divided into two parts ; the
first part was the court ;, the house occupied the sec-
ond. The hearth, plaxjed near the middle of the whole
enclosure, was thus at the bottom of the court, and
near the entrance of the house. At Rome the dispo-
sition was diflferent, but the principle was the snme.
The hearth remained. in the middle of the enclosure,
but the buildings rose round it. on .four sides, so as to
enclose it within a little court.
We can easily understand the idea thp,t inspired tliis
' Diodorjis, V. 68.
82 THE FAMILY. BOOK I
system of construction. The walls are raised aroum
the hearth to isolate and defend it, and we may saj
as the Greeks said, that religion taught men to buiL
houses. In this house the family is master and pro
l^rietor ; its domestic divinity assures it this righl
The house is consecrated by the perpetual presena
of gods ; it is a temple which preserves them.
"What is there more holy," says Cicero, "what ii
there more carefully fenced round with every descrip
tion of religious respect, than the house of each indi
vidual citizen ? Here is his altar, here is his hearth
here are his household gods ; here all his sacred rights
all his religious ceremonies, are preserved." ' To entei
this house with any malevolent intention was a sacri-
lege. The domicile was inviolable. According to a
Roman tradition, the domestic god repulsed the robber,
and kept off the enemy.^
Let us pass to another object of worship — the tomb:
and we shall see that the same ideas were attached to
this. The tomb held a very important place in the
religion of the ancients ; for, on one hand, worship was
due to the ancestors, and on the other, the principal
ceremony of this worship — the funeral repast — was to
be performed on the very spot where the ancestors
rested.' The family, therefore, had a common tomb,
where its members, one after another, must come to
sleep. For this tomb the rule was the same as for
the hearth. It was no more permitted to unite two
families in the same tomb than it was to establish two
domestic hearths in the same house. To bury one out
' Cicero, Pro Domo, 41.
' Ovid, Fast., V. 141.
' Such, at least, was the ancient rule, since they believed that
the funeral repast served as food for the dead. Eurip., Ti oad.,
381.
CHAP. VI. THE EIGHT OF PEOPERTT. 83
of the family tomb, or to place a stranger in thia tomb,
was equally impious.'. The domiistic religion, both
in life and in death, separated every family from all
others, and strictly rejected all appeai"ance of com-
munity. Just as the houses could not be contiguous,
so the tombs could not touch each other ; each one of
them, like the house, had a sort of isolating enclosure.
How manifest is the character of private property in
all this ! The dead are gods, who belong to a particular
family, which alone has a right to invoke them. These
gods have taken possession of the soil ; they live under
this little mound, and no one, except one of the family,
can think of meddling with them. Furthermore, no
one has the right to dispossess them of the soil which
they occupy; a tomb among the ancients could never
be destroyed or displaced ; '' this was forbidden by the
severest laws. Here, therefore, was a portion of the
soil which, in the name of religion, became an object
of perpetual property for each family. The family ap-
propriated to itself this soil by placing its dead here ;
it was established here for all time. Th*^ living scion
of this family could rightly say. This land is mine. It
was so completely his, that it was inseparable from
him, and he had not the right to dispose of it. The
soil where the dead rested was inalienable and impre-
' Cicero, De Legib., 11.22; II. 26. Gains, Instit.,ll. 6.
Digest, XLVII., tit. 12. We must note that the slave and the
client, as we shall see, farther on were a part of the family, and
were buried in the common tomb. The rule which prescribed
that every man should be buried in the tomb of his family, ad-
mitted of an exception in the case where the city itself granted
a public funeral.
* Lycurgus, against Leocrates, 25. At Rome, before a burial-
place could be changed, the permission of the pontiffs was
required. Pliny, Letters, X. 73.
8^ THE FAMILY. BOOK U.
seriptible. The Roman law requLce^ that, if a family
soldthe field where the tomb was situated, it should still
retain the ownership of this tomb, and should always
preserve the right to cross the field, in order to per-
form the ceremonies of its worship.'
The ancient usage was to inter the dead, not in
cemeteries or by the road-side, but in the field belong-
ing to the family. This custom of ancient times is
attested by a law of Solon,, and by several passages in
Plutarch. We learn from an oration of Demosthenes^
that even in bis time, each family buried its dead in
its own field, and that when a domain was bougbt in
Attica, the burial-place of the old proprietors was found
there.'' As for Italy, this same cuptom is proved to
have existed by the laws of the Twelve Tables, by
passages from two jurisconsults, and by this sentence
of Siculns Flaccus: "Anciently theije were two ways
of placing the tomb; some placed It on oiie side pf the
field, others towards the middle."'
Prom this custom we can see that the idep, of prop-
erty was easily extended froin th,e small mound to the
field that surrounded this mound. In the w:orl^3 of
the elder Cato there is a formula according to which the
Italian laborer prayed the manes to watch oyer his
field, to take good > care against the thief^ and to bless
him with a good harvest. Thus these souls of the dead
extended tutelary action, and with it their right of prop-
erty, even to the boundaries of the domain. Through
' Cicero, De Legib., II./24. Digest, XVIII. tit. 1. 6.
' Laws of Solon, cited by Gaius in Digest, X. tit. 1. 13. De-
mosthenes, against Oallicles. Plutarch, Aristides, 1.
' Siculus Flaccus, e^it. Go?z,|(. 4. SeeFragm.terminalia,
edit. Goez, p. 147. Pomponius,' in D,ig,^t, XLVII. tit. 12. 5
Paul, in Digest, VIII. 1, 14.
CHAP. Vl. THE EIGHT OF PilOPEETT. 85
thiem the family was sole master in this field. The
tomb had established an indissoluble union of the fam-
yiy with tlie laiid ^^ that of ownership.
^ In the gi'eater number of ptimitiV6 societies the right
of property was established by religion'. In the Bible,
the Lord said to Abraham, "I am the Lord, that brought
thee out of TJr of the Chaldees, to give thee this land,
to inherit it ; " and to Moses, " Go up hence, . . . into
the land which I svvare unto Abraham, to Isaac, and
to Jacob, saying. Unto thee will I give it."
Thus God, the primitive proprietor, by right of creia-
tion, delegates to man his ownership ovfer a part of the
soil.' There was something analogous among the an-
cient GrfeoD-Italiati' peoples. It was not the religion
of Jupiter that founded this right, it is true ; pel-haps
beeause this religion did not yet exist. The gods who
conferred npon evi^ry family its right to a portion of
the soil, wei'e the domestic gods, the saci'ed fire, and the
manes. The first religion that exercised its empire oh
their minds was also the one that established the right
of property among them.
It is clearly evident that private property was an in-
stitution that the domestic ifeligiOh had need of. This
Religion required that both dwellings and burying-
places shoiild be separate from each other; living in
common was, therefore, impOBsible. The same religion
required that this hearth should be fixed to the soil,
that the tomb should neither be destroyed nor dis-
placed. Suppress the right of property, and the sacred
five would be wittiotit '■& fixed place, the faiwilies would
' Same tradition among the Etruscans : " dwwm Jupiter ter-
rum EirUria sihi iiinditd/eU, constUuit j'ussiique meUri campos
signarique aQr'Os.'' Auctores Rei AgraricB, in the ifragment en-
titled Idem Vegoia Arrunti, edit. Goez.
86 THE PAMILT. BOOK U
become confounded, and the dead would be abandonee
and without worship. By the stationary hearth anc
the permanent burial-place, the family took possessioi
of the soil ; the earth was in some sort imbued and pen
etrated by the religion of the hearth and of ancestors
Thus the men of the early ages were saved the trouble
of resolving too difficult a problem. Without discus
sion, without labor, without a shadow of hesitation
they anived, at a single step, and merely by virtue of
their belief, at the conception of the right of property
this right from which all civilization springs, sinc(
by it man improves the soil, and becomes improvec
himself.
1<<^ Religion, and not laws, first guaranteed the right ol
property. Every domain was under the eyes of house
hold divinities, who watched over it.' Every field hac
to be surrounded, as we have seen for the house, bj
an enclosure, which separated it completely from the
domains of other families. This enclosure was not i
wall of stone; it was a band of soil, a few feet wide
which remained uncultivated, and which the plougt
could never touch. This space was sacred ; the Ro
man law declared it indefeasible ; ' it belonged t(
the religion. On certain appointed days of eacl
month and year, the father of the family went rount
his field, following this line ; he drove victims before
him, sang hymns, and offered sacrifices.' By thii
ceremony he believed he had awakened the benevo
' Lares agri cusiodeSy TibuUus, I. 1, 23. Religio Larm
posita in fundi villceqve conspectu. Cicero, JJe Legih., II. 11.
' Cicero, De Legib., I. 21.
•* Cato, Be Re Rust., 141. Script. Rei Agrar., edit. Goez, p
308. Dionysius of Halicarnassus, II. 74. Ovid, Fast., II. 639
Strabo, "V. 3.
CHAP, ^I. TaE EIGHT OF PBOPEETT. 87
lence of his gods towards his field and his house ;
above all, he had marked his right of property by-
proceeding round his field with his domestic worship.
The path which the victims and prayers had followed
was the inviolable limit of the domain.
On this line, at certain points, the men placed large
stones or trunks of trees, which they called Termini.
We can form a good idea as to what these bounds
were, and what ideas were connected with them, by the
manner in which the piety of men established them.
■ " I'his," says Seculus Flaccus, " was the manner in
which our ancestors proceeded: They conimenced by
digging a small hole, and placing the Terminus upright
near it ; next they crowned the Terminus with garlands
of grasses and flowers ; then they ofiered a sacrifice.
The victim being immolated, they made the blood flow
into the hole ; they threw in live coals (kindled, prob-
bly, at the sacred fire of the hearth), grain, cakes, fruits,
a little wine, and some honey. When all this was
consume<l in the hole, they thrust down the stone or
piece of wood upon the ashes while they were still
warm." ' It is easy to see that the object of the cere-
mony was to make of this Terminus a sort of sacred
representation of the domestic worship. To continue
this character for it, they renewed the sacred act every
year, by pouring out libations and reciting prayers,
The Terminus, once placed in the earth, became in some
sort the domestic religion implanted in the soil, to in-
dicate that this soil was forever the property of the
family. Later, poetry lending its aid, the Terminus
was considered as a distinct god.
The employment of Termini, or sacred bounds for
fields, appears to have been universal among the Indo
' Siculus Flaccus, edit. Goez, p. 5.
88 THE FAMILY. BOOK II.
European race. It existed among the Hindus at a very
enrly date, and the sacred ceremonies of the boundaries
had among them a great analogy with those which
Siculus Flaccus has described for Italy.' Before the
ionndation of Rome, we find the Terminus among the
Sabines ; " we also find it among the Etruscans. The
Hellenes, too, had sacred landmarks, which they called
Sgo/, 6eoI OQIOI.^
The Terminus once established according to the re-
quired rites, there was no power on earth that could
displace it. It was to remain in the same place through
all ages. This religious principle was expressed at
Rome by a legend : Jupiter, having wished to prepare
himself a site on tlie Capitoline hill for a temple, could
not displace the god Terminus. This old tradition
shows how sacred property had become ; for the im-
movable Terminus signified nothing less than inviolable
property.
In fact, the Terminus guarded the limit of the field,
and watched over it. A neighbor dared not approach
too near it: "For then," says Ovid, "the god, who felt
himself struck by the ploughshare, or mattock, cried,
' Stop : this is my field ; there is yours.' " * To encroach
upon the field of a family, it was necessary to overturn
or displace a boundary mark, and this boundary mark
was a god. The sacrilege was horrible, and the chas-
tisment severe. According to the old Roman law,
the man and the oxen who touched a Terminus were
devoted" — that is to say, both man and oxen were
' Laws of Manu, VIII. 245. Vrihaepati, cited by Sice, Bindu
Legislation, p. 159.
= Varro, L. L., V. 74.
' Pollux, IX. 9. Hesyehius, ogos. Plato, Laws, p. 842.
* Ovid, Fast., II. 677.
° Festus, V. Terminus.
tliAP. VI. THE EIGHT OF PI50PEETT. 89
immolated in expiation. The Etruscan law, speaking
in the name of religion, says, " He who shall have
touched or displaced a bound shall be condemned by
th'e gods; his house shall disappear; his race shall be
extinguished ; his land shall no longer produce fruits;
hail, rust, and the fires of the dog-star shall destroy his
hai"vests ; the limbs of the guilty one shall become
covered with ulcere, and shall waste away." ' We do
not pbssess th6 text of the Athenian law on this sub-
ject ; there remain of it only three words, "which signify,
"Do not pass the boundaries." But Plato appears to
complete the thought of the legislator when he says,
"Our first law ought to be this: Let no person touch
the bounds which separate his field from that of his \
neighbor, for this ought to remain immovable. . . .
Let no one attempt to disturb the small stone which
sepalrates friendship from enmity, and which the land-
owners have bound themselves by an oath to leave in
Its place.""
From all these beliefs, from all these usages, from all
these laws, it clearly follows that the domestic religion
taught man to appropriate the soil, and assiired him
his right to it.
There is no difficulty in understanding that the right
of property, having been thus conceived and established,
was much more complete and absolute in its effects
than it can be in our modern societies, where it is
founded upon other principles. Property was so in-
herent in the domestic religion that a family could
not renounce one without renouncing the other. The
house and the field were — so to speak -^incorporated
• Script. Bei Agrar.f ed. Goez, p. 268.
« Plato, Laws, VIII. p. 842. -
90 THE FAMILY. BOOK H.
in it, and it could neither lose them nor dispose of them.
Plato, in his treatise on the Laws, did not pretend to
advance a new idea when he forbade the proprietor to
sell his field ; he did no more than to recall an old law.
i Everything leads us to believe that in the ancient ages
property was inalienable. It is well known that at
Sparta the citizen was formally forbidden to sell his lot
of land.' There was the same interdiction in the laws
of Locri and of Leucadia." Pheidon of Corinth, a legis-
lator of the ninth century B. C, prescribed that the
number of families and of estates should remain un-
changeable.' Now, this prescription could be observed
only when it was forbidden to sell an estate, or even to
divide it.
The law of Solon, Later by seven or eight generations
than that of Pheidon of Corinth, no longer forbade a
man to sell his land, but punished the vender by a
severe fine, and the loss of the rights of citizenship."
Finally, Aristotle mentions, in a general manner, that
in many cities the ancient laws forbade the sale of
land.'
Such laws ought not to surprise us. Found prop-
erty on the right of labor, and man may dispose of it.
Found it on religion, and he can no longer do this; a
tie stronger than the will of man binds the land to him.
Besides, this field where the tomb is situated, where the
divine ancestors live, where the family is forever to
perform its worship, is not simply the jiroperty of a
man, but of a family. It is not the individual actually
' Plutarch, Lycwrg., Agis. Aristotle, Polit., II. 6, 10 (II. 7).
» Aristotle, Polit., II. 4. 4 (II. 5).
» Id., Ibid., II. 3, 7.
* .ffischines, against Timarchus. Diogenes Laertius, I. 65.
' Aristotle, Polit., VII. 2.
CHAP. VI. THE EIGHT OF PEOPEETT. 91
living who has established his right over this soil, it is
the domestic god. The individual has it in trust only ;
it belongs to those who are dead, and to those who are
yet to be born. It is a part of the body of this family,
and cannot be separated from it. To detach one from
the other is to alter a worship, and to offend a religion.
Among the Hindus, property, also founded upon re-
ligion, was also inalienable.'
We know nothing of Roman law previous to the
laws of the Twelve Tables. It is certain that at that
time the sale of propei-ty was permitted ; but there are
reasons for thinking that, in the earlier days of Rome,
and in Italy before the existence of Rome, land was
inalienable, as in Greece. Though there remains no
evidence of this old law, there remain to us at least
the modifications which were made in it by degrees.
The law of the Twelve Tables, though attaching to the
tomb the character of inalienability, has freed the soil
from it. Afterwards it was permitted to divide prop-
erty, if there were several brothers, but on condition
that a new religions ceremony should be performed,
and that the new partition should be made by a priest ; '
religion. only could divide what had before been pro-
claimed indivisible. Finally, it was permitted to sell
the domain; but for that formalities of a religious char-
acter were also necessary. This sale could take place
only in the presence of a priest, whom they called
Uk-ipens, and with the sacred formality which they
called mancipation. Something analogous is seen in
Greece ; the sale of a house or of land was always ac-
' Mitakchara, Orianne's trans., p. 50. This rule disappeared
by degrees after Brahminism became dominant.
" This priest was called agrimensor. See Seriptores Sei
AgrartcB.
9S THE FAMitT, BOOK II.
oompanied with a sacrifice to the gods.' Every trans-
fer of property needed to be authorized by reli^on. If
a man could not, or could only with difficulty, dispose
of land, for a still stronger reason he could not be
deprived of it against his will.
The appropriation of land for public utility was un-
known among the ancients. Confiscation was resorted
to only in case of condemnation to exile' — that is to
say, when a man, deprived of his right to citizenship,
could no longer exercise any right over the soil of the
city. Nor was the taking of property for debt known
in the ancient laws of cities.' The laws of the Twelve
Tables assuredly do not spar^ the debtor ; still they do
not permit his jii-operty to be sold for the benefit of the
creditor. The body Of the debtor is held for the debt,
not his laud, for the land is inseparable from the family.
It is easier to subject a man to servitude than to take
his property from him. The debtor is placed in the
hands of the creditor ; his land follows him, in some
sort, into slavery. The master who uses the physical
strength of a man for his own profit, enjoys at the same
time the fruits of his land, but does not become the
pi'oprietor of it. So inviolable aibove all else is the
right of property.*
' Stobseus, 42.
" This rule disappeared in the democratic age of the cities.
' A law of the Elseans forbade the mortgaging of land. Aris-
tot., Polit., VII. 2. Mortgages were unknown in ancient Roman
law. What is said of mortgages in the Athenian law before
Solon is based on a doubtful passage of Plutarch.
* In the article of tlie law of the Twelve Tables which relates
to insolvent debtors, we read, Si volet sua vivHo ; then the debtor,
having become almost a slave, still retains sometliing for him-
self; his land, if he has any, is not taken from him. The
arrangements known in Boman law under the names ot fidu-
CHAr. YH, THE EIGHT OF SUCCESSION. 93
CHAPTEE VII.
The Itight of Snccession.
I. IfTatv/re and Principle of the Might of Succession
among the Ancients.
The right of :property having been eptablisbed for
the accomplishment of an hereditary wor6hip,4t , was not
possible that this right, 8h,puld fail aft^r the sh^rt life of
an individual. The man dies, the; worship remains;
the fire must not be extinguished, nor the tomb aban-
doned. So long as the domestic religion continued,
the right of property had to continue wi^h it.
Two things are closely a^ed in the cijeeds as well
as in the laws pf the ancients -^.tbo family -^porship
and its property. It w^s therefore a rijle without
exception, in both Greek, and Roman law, that a prop-
erty could, not be acquired without the worship, or the
worship withojit tfee property. "Religion prescribes,"
says Cicero, " tha,t the property apd tb.e- WOPCsMp of a
cia/ry mancipatipn, a.nd of pignvs, were, before tlje introduction
of the Servian action, the means employed to insure to the cred-
itor the payment of the debt; these prove indirectly that the
seizure of property for debt was not praetieed. Later, when
they suppressed corppral servitudCj it was necessary. thijt there
shojild be some ^claipi on the property of a deJJtoji. The
change was not without diflSculty ; but the distinction which was
made bet?r^sn properiv m^jpos^essipfi offered a, resource. The
cre^i^r pbtained pf the praetor tlfp right to sell, not the prop-
erty, dominium, but the goods of the debtor, bona. Then, only,
by a disguised seizure, the debtor lost tjie enjoyqieiit of bis
property.
94 THE FAMILY. BOOK U
family shall be inseparable, and that the care of the
sacrifices shall always devolve upon the one who re-
ceives the inheritance." ' At Athens an orator claims
a succession in these terms : " "Weigh it well, O judges,
and say whether my adversary or I ought to inherit the
estate of Philootemon, and offer the sacrifices upon his
tomb." ° Could one say more directly that the care of
the worship was inseparable from the succession ? It
was the same in India : "He who inherits, whoever he
may be, is bound to make the offerings upon the tomb." "
From this principle were derived all the rules regard-
ing the right of succession among the ancients. The
first is that, the domestic religion being, as we have
seen, hereditary from male to male, property is the
same. As the son is the natural continuator of the re-
ligion, he also inherits the estate. Thus the rule of
inheritance is found; it is not the result of a simple
agreement made between men ; it is derived from their
belief, from their religion, from that which has the
greatest power over their minds. It is not the personal
will of the father that causes the son to inherit. The
father need not make a will ; the son inherits of full
right, — ipso Jure heres exsistit, — says the jurisconsult.
He is even a necessary successor — heres necessarius.'
He has neither to accept nor to reject the inheritance.
Thti continuation of the property, like that of the
worship, is for him an obligation as well as a right.
Whether he wishes it or not, the inheritance falls to
him, whatever it may be, even with its encumbrances
' Cicero, De Legib., II. 19, 20. Festus, v. Everriator.
' Isseus, VI. 51. Plato calls the heir SiicSoxog itSv, Laws,
V. 740.
' Laws of Maim, IX. 186.
* Digest, XXXVIU. tit. 16, 14.
CHAP. VII. THE EIGHT OF SUCCESSION". 95
and its debts. The right to inherit without the debts,
and to reject an inheritance, was not allowed to the
son in Greek legislation, and was not introduced until
a later period into Roman law.
The judicial language of Rome calls the son heres
suus, as if one should say, Jieres sui ipsius. In fact,
he inherits only of himself. Between his father and
him there is neither donation, nor legacy, nor change
of property. There is simply a continuation — morte
parentis continuatur dominium. Already, during
the life of the father, the son was co-proprietor of the
field and house — vivo quoque patre dominus existi-.
matur}
To form an idea of inheritance among the ancients,
we must not figure to ourselves a fortune which passes
from the hands of one to those of another. The for-
tune is immovable, like the hearth, and the tomb to
which it is attached. It is the man who passes away.
It is the man who, as the family unrolls its generations,
arrives at his hour appointed to continue the worship,
and to take care of the domain.
2. The Son, not the Daughter, inherits.
It is here that ancient laws, at first sight, appear
whimsical and unjust. "We experience some surprise
when we see in the Roman law that the daughter does
not inherit if she is married, and that, according to the
Greek law, she does not inherit in any case. What
concerns the collateral branches appears, at first sight,
still farther removed from nature and justice. This is
because all these laws flow, according to a very rigor-
» Institutes, Til. 1, 8; III. 9, 7; III. 19, 2.
96 THB FAMILY. BOOK 11.
ous logic, from the creed and religion that we bave
described above.
~~ The rule for the worship is, that it shall be trans-
mitted from male to male; the rale for the inheritance
is, that it shall follow the worship. The daughter is
not qualified to continue the paternal religion, since
she may marry, and thus renounce the religion of heir
father to adopt that of her husband ; she has, there-
fore, no right to tb© inheritance. If a father should
happen to leave his. property to a daugbter, this prop-
\ erty would be separated from the worship, which would
be inadmissible. The daughter could not even fulfil
the first duty of an heir, which was to continue the
series of funeral uepasts; since she would offer the
sacrifices to the ancestors of her husband. Religion
forbade her^ therefore, to inberit from her father.
Such is the ancient principle; it influenced equally
the legislators of the Hindus and those of Greece and
Rome. The three peoples had the same laws; not
that they bad borrowed from each other, but because
they had derived their laws from the same belief.
" Afler the death of the father," says the Code of
Manu, " let the brotljers. divide the patrimony among
them;" and the legislator adds, that he recommends
the brothers to endow their sisters, which proves that
the latter have not of themselves any right to the
paternal succession^
This was the case, too, at Athens. Demosthenes, in
his, orations, often has occasion to show that daughters
cannot inherit.' He is himself an example of the
application of this rule; for he had a sister, and we
' Demosthenes, in Bceotum. Isseus, X. 4. Lysias, in Man-
tith., 10.
CHAP. VII, THE EIUHT OP SUCCESSION. 97
know, from his own writings, that he was the sole lieii
to the estate ; his father had reserved only the seventh
part to endow the daughter.
As to Home, the provisions of primitive law which
excluded the daughters from the inheritance are not
known to us from any formal and precise text; but
they have left profound traces in the laws of later ages.
The Institutes of Justinian still excluded the daughter
from the number of natural heirs, if she was no longer
under the power of the father; and she was no longer
under the power of the father after she had been mar-
ried according to the religious rites.' iFrom this it
follows that, if the daughter before marriage could
share the inheritance with her brother, she had not
this right after marriage had attached her to another
religion and another family. And, if this was still the
case in the time of Justinian, we may suppose that in
primitive law, this principle was applied in all its rigor,
and that the daughter not yet married, but who would
one day marry, had no right to inherit the estate.
The Institutes also mention the old principle, then
obsolete, but not forgotten, which prescribed that an
inheritance always descended to the males.' It was
clearly as a vestige of this old rule, that, according
to the civil law, a woman could never be constituted an
heiress. The farther we ascend from the Institutes of
Justinian towards earlier times, the nearer we approach
the rule that woman could not inherit. In Ciceio's
time, if a father left a son and a daughter, he could will
to his daughter only one third of his fortune ; if there
was only a daughter, she could still have but lialf.
We must also note that, to enable this daughter to
1 Institutes, II. 9, 2. » Hid., III. 1, 15; III. 2, 3.
7
98 THE FAMILY. BOOK It.
receive a third or half of this patrimony, it was necessary
that the father should make a will in her favor ; the
daughter had nothing of full right.' Finally, a century
and a half before Cicero, Cato, wishing to revive an-
cient manners, proposed and carried the Voconian
law, which forbade, — 1. Making a woman an heiress,
even if she was an only child, married or unmarried,
2. The willing to a woman of more than a fourth part
of the patrimony.'' The Voconian law merely renewed
laws of an earlier date ; for we cannot suppose it would
have been accepted by the contemporaries of the Scipios
if it had not been supported upon old principles which
they still respected. It re-established what time had
changed. Let us add that it contained nothing regard-
ing heirship, ab intestat, probably because on this point
the old law was still in force, and there was nothing
to repair on the subject. At Rome, as in Greece, the
primitive law excluded the daughter from the heritage ;
and this was only a natural and inevitable consequence
of the principles which religion had established.
It is true men soon found out a way of reconciling
the religious prescription which forbade the daughter
to inherit with the natural sentiment which would have
her enjoy the fortune of her father. The law decided
jthat the daughter should marry the heir.
J- Athenian legislation carried this principle to. its ulti-
/ mate consequences. If the deceased left a son and
' a daughter, the son alone inherited and endowed his
[ sister; if they were not both children of the same
\ mother, he had his choice to marry her or to endow
' Cicero, De Rep., III. 7.
" Cicero, in Verr., I. 42. Livy, XLI. 4. St. Augustine,
Ciiy of God, III. 21.
CHAP. vn. THE EIGHT OP SUCCESSION. 99
her.' If the deceased left only a daughter, his nearest
of kind was bis heir; but this relative, who was of
course also a near relative of the daughter, was required,
nevertheless, to marry her. More than this, if this
daughter was already married, she was required to
abandon her husband in order to marry her father's
heir. The heir himself might be already mariied ; in
this case, he obtained a divorce, in order to marry his
relative." We see here how completely ancient law
ignored nature to conform to religion.
The necessity of satisfying the requirements of re-
ligion, combined with the desire of saving the interests
of an only daughter, gave rise to another subterfuge.
On this point Hindu law and Athenian law corre-
spond marvellously. We read in the Laws of Manu,
"He who has no male child may require his daughter
to give him a son, who shall become his, and who may
perform the funeral ceremonies in his honor." In this
case the father was required to admonish the husband
to whom he gave his daughter, by pronouncing this
formula: "I give you this daughter, adorned with jew-
els, who has no brother; the son born of her shall be
my son, and shall celebrate my obsequies." ' The cus-
tom was the same at "Athens ; the father could continue
' Demosthenes, ire ^Mi«Z., 21. Fluturcli, Themisi., 32. Isaeus,
X. 4. Corn. Nepos, Cimon. It must be noted that the law did
not permit marrying a uterine brother, or an emancipated
brother ; it could be only a brother by the father's side, because
ilie latter alone could inherit of the father.
* Isffius, HI. 64; X. 5. Demosthenes, tre Eubul., 41. The
only daughter was called in ixiiigos, wrongly translated heiress;
it signifies the daughter who goes with the inheritance. In fact,
the daughter was never an heiress.
' Laws of Manu, IX. 127, 136. Vasishta, XVII. 16.
100 THE FAMILY. BOOK n.
his descent through his daughter, by giving her a hus-
band on this special condition. The son who was bora
of such a union was reputed the son of the wife's
father ; followed his worship ; assisted at his religious
ceremonies ; and, later, guarded his tomb." In Hindu
law this child inherited fi-ora his grandfather, as if he
had been his son ; it was exactly the same at Athens.
When the father had married his daughter in the
manner we have described, his heir was neither his
daughter nor his son-in-law; it was the daughter's
son." As soon as the latter had attained his ma-
jority, he took possession of the patrimony of his mater-
nal grandfather, though his father and mother were
still living."
This singular tolerance of religion and law confirms
the rule which we have already pointed out. The
daughter was not qualified to inherit ; but, by a very
natural softening of the rigor of this principle, the only
daughter was considered as an intermediary by whom
the family might be continued. She did not inherit ;
but the worship and the inheritance were transmitted
through her.
3. Of the Collateral Succession.
A man died without children ; to know who the heir
of his estate was, we have only to learn who was qual-
ified to continue his worship.
Now, the domestic religion was transmitted by blood
from male to male. The descent in the male line alone
' Isseus, VII.
* He was not cnlled the grandson; they gave him tne par-
ticular name of 6v/aTqiSavi.
" I?8Bus, VIII. 81 ; X. 12. Demosthenes, in Steph., II. 20.
CHAP. vn. THE EIGHT OF SUCCESSION, 10]
establisned between two men the religious relation
which permitted one to continue the worship of the
other. What is called relationship, as we have seen
above, was nothing more than the expression of this
relation. One was a relative because he had the same
worship, the same original sacred fire, the same ances-
tors. But one was not a relative because he had the
same mother ; religion did not admit of kinship through
women. The children of two sisters, or of a sister and
a brother, had no bond of kinship between them, and
belonged neither to the same domestic religion nor to
the same family.
These principles regulated the order of succession.
If a man, having lost his son and his daughter, left only
grandchildren after him, his son's son inherited, but not
his daughter's son. In default of descendants, he had
as an heir his brother, not his sister, the son of his
brother, not the son of his sister. In default of brothers
and nephews, it was necessary to go up in the series
of ascendants of the deceased, always in the male line,
until a branch of the family was found that was de-
tached through a male ; then to re-descend in this
branch from male to male, until a living man waa found ;
this was the heir.
These rules were in force equally among the Eindus,
the Greeks, and the Romans. In India "the inherit-
ance belongs to the nearest sapinda ; in default of a
sapinda, to the samanodaca." ' Now, we have seen
that the relationship which these two words expressed
was the religious relationship, or the relationship
through the males, and corresponded to the Roman
agnation.
Here, again, is the Ipw of Athens: "If a man dies
' Laws ofManu, IX. 186, 187.
102 THE FAMILY. BOOK. II
without children, the heir is the brother of the deceased,
l^rovided he is a consanguineous brother; in default of
him, the son of the brother; for the succession always
passes to the males, and to the descendants of malesr '
They still cited this old law in the time of Demosthenes,
although it had already been modified, and they had
commenced at this epoch to admit relationship through
women.
In the same way, the Twelve Tables ordained that,
if a man died without his heir, the succession belonged
to the nearest agnate. Now, we have seen that one
was never an agnate through females. The ancient
Roman law also specified that the nephew inherited
from the patruus, — that is to say, from his fathert
brother, — and did not inherit from the avuiiculus,
his mother's brother."
By returning to the table which we have traced of
the family of the Scipios, it will be seen that, Scipio
.^milianus, having died without children, his estate
could not pass either to Cornelia, his aunt, or to C.
Gracchus, who, according to our modern ideas, was his
cousin -germ an, but to Scipio Asiaticus, who was really
his nearest of kin.
In the time of Justinian, the legislator no longer
understood these old laws; they appeared unjust to
him, and he complained of the excessive rigor of the
laws of the Twelve Tables, " which always accorded
the preference to the masculine posterity, and excluded
from the inheritance those who were related to the de-
ceased only through females." " Unjust laws, if you
will, for they made no account of natural affection;
' Demosthenes, in Macart. ; in Leoch. Isseus, VII. 20.
" Institutes, III. 2, 4.
» Ibid. III. 3.
CHAP. VII, THE EIGHT OF S0CCESSIOX. 103
but singularly logical laws, for setting out from iho
principle that the inheritance was attached to the wor-
ship, they excliided from the inheritance those whom
this religion did not authorize to continue the worship.
4. ^Effects of Emancipation and Adoption.
We have already seen that emancipation and adop-
tion produced a change in a man's worship. The first
sepaviited him from the paternal worship, the second
initiated him into the religion of another family. Here
also the ancient law conformed to the rules of religion.
The son who had been excluded from the paternal
worship by emancipation was also excluded from tlie
inheritance. On the other hand, the stranger who had
been associated in the worship of a family by adoption
became a son there; he continued its worship, and
inherited the estate. In both cases ancient law made
more account of the religious tie than of the tie of
biith.
As it was contrary to religion that one man should
have two domestic worships, so he could not inherit
from two families. Besides, the adopted son, who in-
herited of the adopting family, did not inherit from his
natural family. Athenian law was very explicit on this
point. The orations of Attic orators often show us men
who have been adopted into a family, and who wished
to inherit in the one in which they were born ; but tlie
law was against them. The adopted son could not
inherit from bis own family unless he re-entered it ; he
could not re-enter it except by renouncing the adopting
family; and he could leave this latter only on two con-
ditions: the one was, that he abandoned the patrimony
of this family ; the other was, that the domestic worship.
104 THE PAMILT. BOOK n.
for the continuation of which he had been adopted, did
not cease by his abandonment ; and, to make this certain,
it was necessary for him to leave this family a son, who
should replace him. This son took charge of the wor-
ship, and iuheiited the estate; the father could then
return to the family of his birth, and inherit its prop-
erty. But this father and son conld no longer inherit
from each other; they were not of the same family,
they were not of kin.'
We can easily see what was the idea of the old legis-
lator when he established these precise rules. He did
not suppose it .possible that two estates could fall to the
same heir, because two domestic worships could not be
kept up by the same person.
5. Wills were not known oriffinaUy.
The right of willing — that is to say, of disposing of
one's property after death, in order to make it pass to
other than natural heirs — was in opposition to the re-
ligious creed that was at the foundation of the law of
property and the law of succession. The property
being inherent in the worship, and the worship being
hereditary, could one think of a will ? Besides, prop-
erty did not belong to the individual, but to the family;
for m::n had not acquired it by the right of labor, but
througli the domestic worship. Attached to the family,
it was transmitted from the dead to the living, not
according to the will and choice of the dead, but by
virtue of superior rules which religion had estab-
lished.
' Isaeus, X. Demosthenes, passim. Gains, III. 2. 7n-
stiiutes, III. 1, 2. It is hardly necessary to state that tliese
rules were modified in the pretorian laws.
CUAP, Vn. THE RIGHT OP SUCCESSION. 105
The will was not known in ancient Hindu law.
Athenian legislation, np to Solon's time, forbade it
absolutely, and Solon himself permitted it only to those
who left no children.' Wills were for a long time
forbidden or unknown at Sparta, and were authorized
only after the Peloponnesian war.'' Aristotle speaks
of a time when the case was the same at Corinth and
at Thebes.^ It is certain that the power of trans-
mitting one's property arbitrarily by will was not rec-
ognized as a natural right ; the constant principle of
the ancient ages was, that all property should remain
in the family to which religion had attached it.
Plato, in his treatise on the Laws, which is largely
a commentary on the Athenian laws, explains very
clearly the thought of ancient legislators. He sup-
poses that a man on his death-bed demands the power
to make a will, and that he cries, " O gods, is it not very
hard that I am not able to dispose of my property as I
may choose, and in favor of any one to whom I please
to give it, leaving more to this one, less to that one,
according to the attachment they have shown for me ? "
But the legislator replies to this man, "Thou who
canst not promise thyself a single day, thou who art
only a pilgrim here below, does it belong to thee to
decide such affairs ? Thou art the master neither of
thy property nor of thyself: thou and thy estate, all
these things, belong to thy family ; that is to say, to
thy ancestors and to thy posterity."*
For us the ancient laws of Rome are very obscure ;
they were obscure even to Cicero. What we know
reaches little farther back than the Twelve Tables,
' Plutarch, Solon, 21. * Id., Agia, 6.
' Aristotle, Polit,, II. 3, 4. ' Plato, Ltms, XI.
106 THE FAMILY. BOOK II.
which certainly are not the primitive legislation of
Rome ; and of these only fragments remain. This code
authorizes the will; yet the fragment relating to the
subject is too short, and too evidently incomplete to
enable us to flatter ourselves that we know the exact
provisions of the Icgislatora in this matter. When they
granted the power of devising property, we do not know
what reserve and what conditions they placed upon
it.' We have no legal text, earlier than the Twelve
Tables, that either forbids or permits a will ; but the
language preserved traces of a time when wills were
not known ; for it called the son the self-successor and
necessary — heres suus et ne'cessarius. This formu-
la, which Gaius and Justinian still employed, but which
was no longer in accord with the legislation of their
time, came, without doubt, from a distant epoch, when
the son could not be disinherited or refuse the heritages
The father had not then the free disposition of his
fortune. In default of sons, and if the deceased had
only collateral relatives, the will was not absolutely un-
known, but was not easily made valid. Important for-
malities were necessary. First, secrecy was not allowed
to the testator during life ; the man who disinherited
his family, and violated the law that religion had estab-
lished, had to do this publicly, in broad daylight, and
take upon himself, during his lifetime, all the odium
attached to such an act. This was not all ; it was also
necessary that the will of the testator should receive
the approbation of the sovereign authority — that is to
say, of the people assembled by curies, under the presi-
' Uti legassit. Ha jus esto. If we had of Solon's law only
the words Siu6ta&ai onoiq uv i6iXii, we should also suppose that the
will was permitted in all possible cases ; but the law adds, u
CHAP. VIL THE EIGHT OF SUCCESSION. 107
dency of the pontiff.' We must not imagine that this
was an empty formality, particularly in the early ages.
These comitia by curies were the most solemn assem-
blies of the Roman city; and it woiild be puerile to
say that they convoked the people under the presidency.
of the religious chief, to act simply as witnesses at the
reading of a will. We may suppose that the people
voted, and we shall see, on reflection, that this was
absolutely necessary. There was, in fact, a general
law which regulated the order of succession in a rigor-
ous manner; to modify this order in any particular,
another law was necessary. This exceptional law was
the will. The right of a man to devise by will was not,
therefore, fully accorded, and could not be, so long as
this society remained under the empire of the old re-
ligion. In the belief of these ancient ages, the living
man was only the representative, for a few years, of a
constant and immortal being — the family. He held
the worship and the property only in trust ; his right
to them ceased with his life.
6. The Right of Primogeniture.
We must transport ourselves beyond the time of
which history has preserved the recollection, to those
distant ages during which domestic institutions were
established, and i^ocial institutions were prepared. Of
this epoch there does not remain, nor can there remain,
any written monument ; but the laws which then gov-
erned men have left some traces in the legislation of
succeeding times.
' XJlpian, XX. 2. Gaius, I. 102, 119. Aulus Gellius, XV. 27.
The testament calatis comitiis was doubtless tlie oldest in use.
It was no longer known in Cicero's time. (Z>e Orat., I. 63.)
108 THE TAinLY. BOOK It
In these distant days we distinguish one institution
which must have survived a long time, which had a
considevahle influence upon the future constitution of
societies, and without which this constitution could not
be explained. This is the right of primogeniture.
The old religion established a difference between the
older and the younger son. ''The oldest," said the
ancient Aiyas, " was begotten for the accomplishment
of the duty due the ancestors ; the others are the fniit
of love," In virtue of this original superiority, the
oldest had the privilege, after the death of the father,
of presiding at all the ceremonies of the domestic wor-
ship; he it was who offered the funeral repast, and
pronounced the formulas of prayer; "for the right of
pronouncing the prayers belongs to that son who came
into the world first." The oldest was, therefore, heir
to the hymns, the continuator of the worship, the
religious chief of the family. From this creed flowed a
rule of law : the oldest alone inherited projjerty. Thus
says an ancient passage, which the last editor of the
Laws of Manu still inserted in the code : " The oldest
takes possession of the whole patrimony, and the other
brothers live under his authority as if they were under
that of their father. The oldest son performs the
duties towards the ancestors ; he ought, therefore, to
have all." '
Greek law is derived from the same religious beliefs
as Hindu law ; it is not astonishing, then, to find here
also the right of primogeniture. Spai-ta preserved it
longer than other Greek cities, because the Spai-tans
' Laws of Manu, IX. lOS-107, 126. This ancient rule was
modified as the old religion became enfeebled. Even in the
code of Manu we find articles that authorize a division of the
inheritance.
I!HAP. Vn. THE BIGHT OF SUCCESSION, 109
were longer faithful to old institutions ; among them
the patrimony was indivisible, and the younger brothers
had no part of it.' It was the same with many of the
ancient codes that Aristotle had studied. He infoi-ms
us, indeed, that the Theban code prescribed absolutely
that the number of lots of land should remain un-
changeable,, which certainly excluded the division
among brothers. An ancient law of Corinth also pro-
vided that the number of families should remain in-
variable, which could only be the case where the right
of the oldest prevented families from becoming dis-
membered in each generation.'
Among the Athenians we need not expect to find
this old institution in full vigor in the time of De-
mosthenes; but there still existed at this epoch what
they called the privilege of the elder.' It consisted in
retaining, above his proportion, the paternal dwelling —
an advantage which was materially considerable, and
which was still more considerable in a religions point
of view; for the paternal house contained the ancient
hearth of the family. While the younger sons, in the
time of Demosthenes, left home to light new fires, the
oldest, the true heir, remained in possession of the pa-
ternal hearth and of the tomb of his ancestors. He alone
also preserved the family name.* These were the ves-
tiges of a time when he alone received the patrimony.
We may remark, that the inequality of the law of
primogeniture, besides the fact that it did not strike
the'minds of the ancients, over whom religion was all-
■ Fragments of the Greek Historians, Didot's Coll., t. IL
p. 211.
' .Aristotle, Polit., II. 9 ; II. 3.
" JI(it(!fieia, Demosthenes, Pro Phorm.. 34.
* Demosthenes, in Boeot. de nomine.
110 THE FAMILT, BOOK II,
powerful, was corrected by several of their customs.
Sometimes the younger son was adopted into a family;
and inherited property there ; sometimes he married
an only daughter; sometimes, in fine, he received some
extinct family's lot of land. When all these resources
failed, younger sons were sent out to join a colony.
As to Rome, we find no law that relates to the
right of primogeniture; but we are not to conclude
from this that the right was unknown in ancient Italy.
It might have disappeared, and even its traces have
been efiaced. What leads us to believe that before the
ages known to us it was in force is, that the existence
of the Roman and Sabine gens cannot be explained
without it. How could a family reach the number of
several thousand free persons, like the Claudian family,
or several hundred combatants, all patricians, like the
Fabian family, if the right of primogeniture had not
maintained its unity during a long series of generations,
and had not increased its numbers from age to age by
preventing its dismemberment ? This ancient right of
primogeniture is proved by its consequences, and, so to
speak, by its works.'
' The old Latin language, moreover, has preserved a vestige
■which, feeble as it is, deserves to be pointed out. A lot of land,
the domain of a family, was called sors ; sors patrimonium sig-
nificat, says Festus. The word consortes was -applied then to
those who had among them only a single lot of land, and lived
on the same domain. Now, the old language designated by this
word brothers, and even those quite distantly related. This
bears witness to a time when the patrimony and the family were
indivisible. (Festus, v. Sors. Cicero, in Verrem, II. 323.
Livy, XLI. 27. Velleius, I. 10. Lucretius, III. 772; VL
1280).
CHAP. Vm. AUTHOKITT IN THE FAMILY. Ill
CHAPTER VIII.
Authority in the Family.
1. TTie Principle and Nature of the Paternal Power
among the Ancients.
The family did not receive ita laws fi-om the city.
If the city had established private law, that law would
probably have been different from what we have seen.
It would have established the right of property and the
right of succession on different principles ; for it was
not for the interest of the city that land should be in-
alienable and the patrimony indivisible. The law that
permitted a father to sell or even to kill his son — a law
that we find both in Greece and in Rome — was not
established by a city. The city would rather have said
to the father, " Tour wife's and your son's life does not
belong to you any more than their liberty does. I will
protect them, even against you; you are not the one
to judge them, or to kill them, if they have committed
a crime ; I will be their judge." If the city did not
Bjieak thus, it is evident that it could not. Private
law existed before the city. When the city began to
write its laws, it found this law already established,
living, rooted in the customs, strong by universal ob-
servance. The city accepted it, because it could not do
otherwise, and dared not modify it, except by degrees.
Ancient law was not the work of a legislator; it was,
on the contrary, imposed upon the legislator. It had
its birth in the family. It sprang up spontaneously
from the ancient principles which gave it root. It
flowed from the religious belief which was universally
112 THE FAMILY. BOOK H.
admitted in the primitive age of these peoples, which
exercised its empire over their intelligence and their
wills.
A family was composed of a father, a mother, chil-
dren, and slaves. This group, small as it was, required
discipline. To whom, then, belonged the chief author-
ity? To the father? No. There is in every house
something that is above the father himself. It is the
domestic religion ; it is that god whom the Greeks
called the hearth-master, — kana dianoiva, — whom the
Romans called ILar familiaris. This divinity of the
interior, or, what amounts to the same thing, the belief
that is in the human soul, is the least doubtful author-
ity. This is what fixed rank in the family.
The father ranks first in presence of the sacred fire.
He lights it, and supports it ; he is its priest. In all
religious acts his functions are the highest; he slays
the victim, his mouth pronounces the formula of prayer
which is to draw upon him and his the protection of
the gods. The family and the worship are perpetuated
through him ; he represents, himself alone, the whole
series of ancestors, and from him are to proceed the
entire series of descendants. Upon him rests the do-
mestic worship ; he can almost say, like the Hindu, "I
am the god." When death shall come, he will be a
divine being whom his descendants will invoke.
This religion did not place woman in so high a rank.
The wife takes part in the religious acts, indeed, but
she is not the mistress of the hearth. She does not
derive her religion from her birth. She was initiated
into it at her marriage. She has learned from her
husband the prayer that she pronounces. She does
not represent the ancestors, since she is not descended
from them. She herself will not become an ancestor;
CHAP. ^ai. AUTHORITY IN THE FAMILY. 113
placed in the tomb, she will not receive a special wor-
ship. In death, as in life, she counts only as a part of
her husbasd.
Greek law, Roman law, and Hindu law, all derived
from this old religion, agi'ee in considering the wife as
always a minoT. She could never have a hearth of her
own ; she was never the chief of a worship. At Rome
she received the title of mater familias ; but she lost
this if her husband died.' Never having a sacred fire
which belonged to her, she had nothing of what gave
authority in the house. She never commanded ; she
was never even free, or mistress of herself. She was
always near the hearth of another, repeating the prayer
of another ; for all the acts of religious life she needed
a superior, and for all the acts of civil life a guardian.
The Laws of Menu say, "Woman, during her in-
iancy, depend* upon her father ; during her youth, upon
her husband ; when her husband is dead, upon her sons ;
if she has no son, on the nearest relative of her hus-
band ; for a woman ought never to govern herself
according to her own will."' The Greek laws and-
those of Rome are to the same effect. As a girl, she
is under her father's control ; if her &ther dies, she is
governed by her Iwothers.; married,, she is under thei
guardianship of her husband; if tlie husband dies,
she does not return to her own family, for she has re-
nounced that forever by the sacred maraage;' the
widow remains, subject. to the goardianship of her hus-
band's agnates — that is to say, of her own sons, if she
' Festus, V. Mater famiUis.
« Laws ofManu, V. 147, 148
' She returned only in case of divorce. Demosthenes, in
Eubulid., 41.
8
L-^
114 THE FAMILT, BOOK n.
has any, or, in default of sons, of the nearest kin-
dred.' So complete is her husband's authority over
her, that lie can, upou his death, designate a guardian
for her, and even chooseher a second htisband.'
To indicate the power of the husband over the wife,
the Romans had a very ancient expression, which their
jurisconsults have preserved ; it is the word mames.
It is not easy to discover the primitive sense of this
word, The commentators make it the expression of
material force, as if the wife was placed under the
brutal hand of the husband. It is quite probable that
this is wrong. The power of the husband over the
wife results in no wise from his superior strength. It
came, like all private law, from the religious belief that
placed man above woman. What proves this is, that a
woman who had not been married according to the
sacred rites, and who, consequently, had not been as-
sociated in the worship, was not subject to the marital
povver.^ It was marriage which created this subordi-
nation, and at the same time the dignity of the wife.
So true is it that the right of the strongest did not
constitute the family.
Let us pass to the infant. Here nature speaks for
itself, loud enough. It demands that the infant shall
have a protector, a guide, a master. This religion is in
accord with nature; it says that the father shall be the
' Demosthenes, ire Siepfe., II. ; in Aphob. Fl\ita.vch, Tfiemist.,
82. Dionysius of Halicarnassus, II. 25. Gaius, I. 149, 155.
Aulus Gellius., III. 2. Macrobius, I. 3.
' Demosthenes, in Aphobum; pro Phormione.
' Cicero, Topic, 14. Tacitus, Ann., IV. 16. Aulus Gellius,
XVIII. G. It will be seen farther on, that, at a certain epoch,
new modes of marriage were instituted, ar.d that they had the
same legal effects as the sacred marriage.
CHAP. Tm. AUTHORITY rw THE FAMILY. 115
chief of the worship, and that the son shall merely aid
him in his sacred functions. But nature requires thia
subordination only during a certain number of years ;
religion requires more. Nature brings the son to his
majority; religion does not grant it to him, according
to ancient principles ; the sacred fire is indivisible, and
the same is true of property. The brothers do not
separate at the death of their father ; for a still stronger
reason they could not separate from him during his
life. In the rigor of primitive law, the sons remained
attached to the father's hearth, and, consequently,
subject to his authority; while he lived they were
minors.
We may suppose that this rule lasted only so long as
the old domestic religion remained in full vigor. This
unlimited subjection of the son to the father disap-
peared at an early day at Athens. It subsisted longer
at Sparta, where a patrimony was always indivisible.
At Rome the old rule was scrupulously observed ; a
son could never establish a separate hearth during his
father's life; married even, and the father of children,
he was still under parental authority.'
Besides, it was the same with the paternal as with
the marital authority; its principle and condition were
the domestic worship. A son born of concubinage was
not placed under the authority of the father. Between
his father and himself there existed no community of
religion ; there was nothing, therefore, that conferred
' When Gaiua said of the paternal power, Jus proprium est
eivium Romanorum, we must understand that in his time the
Roman law recognized this power only in the Roman citizen :
this does not mean that the power had not existed before in other
places, or that it had not been recognized by the law of other
cities.
116 THE FAMILY. BOOK H.
authority upon the one and commanded obedience
of the other. Paternity, of itself, gave the father no
rights.
Thanlcs to the domestic religion, the family was a
email organized body; a little society, which had its
chief and its government. Nothing in modern society
can give us an idea of this paternal authorityi In prim-
itive antiquity the father is not alone the strong man,
the protector who has power to command obedience;
he is the priest, he is heir t6 the hearth, the continuator
of the ancestors, the parent stock of the descendants, the
depositary of the mysterious rites of the worship, and
of the sacied formulas of prayer. The whole religion
resides in hira.
The very.name by which he is called — pater — con-
tains in itself some curious information. The word is
the same in Greek, in Latin, and in Sanskrit; from
which we may conclude that this word dates from a
time when the Hellenes, the Italians, and the Hindus
still lived together in Central Asia. What was its
signification, and what idea did it then present to the
minds of men? We can discover this; for the word
has preserved its primary signification in the foi'mulas
of religious language and in those of judicial language.
When the ancients, invoking Jupiter, called him pater
hominum deorumque, they did not intend to say that
Jupiter was the father of gods and men, for they never
considered him as such ; they believed, on the contrary,
that the hnman race existed before him. The same
title oi pater was given to Neptune, to Apollo, to Bac-
chus, to Vulcan, and to Pluto. These, assuredly, men
never considered as their fathers ; so, too, the title of
.mater was applied to Minerva, Diana, and Vesta, who
were reputed three virgin goddesses. In judicial Ian-
CHAP. VIII. AUTHORITY IN THE FAMILY. lit
guage, moreover, the title of pater, or pater familias,
might be given to a man who had no children, who was
not married, and who was not even of age to contract
marriage. The idea of paternity, therefore, was not
attached to this word. The old language had another
word which properly designated the father, and which,
as ancient as pater, is likewise found in the language
of the Greeks, of the Romans, and of the Hindus
(ffdnitar, yewriTi/iQ, geniter). The word pater liad an-
other sense. In religious language they applied it to
the gods'; in legal language to every man who had a
Avorship and a domain. The poets show us that they
applied it to every one whom they wished to honor.
The slave and the client applied it to their master. It
was synonymous with the words rex, &vu^, ^uadsig.
It contained in itself not the idea of paternity, but that
of power, authority, majestic dignity.
That such a word should have been applied to the
father of a family until it became his most common
appellation, is assuredly a very significant fact, and one
whose importance will appear to all who wish to under-
stand ancient institutions. The history of this word
suffices to give us an idea of the power which the father
exelieised for a long time in the family, and of the senti-
ment of veneration which was due him as a pontiff and
a sovereign.
2. Mrmmeration of the Hights that composed Pater-
nal Power,
Greek and Roman laws recognized in the father this
unlimited power with which religion had at first clothed
him. The numerous and diverse rights which these
laws conferred upon him may be divided into three
118 THE FAMILY. BOOK H.
classes, according as we consider the father of a family
as a religious chief, as the master of the property, or
as a judge.
I. The father is the supreme chief of the domestic
religion ; he regulates all the ceremonies of the wor-
ship, as he understands them, or, rather, as he has seen
his father perform them. No one contests his sacer-
dotal supremacy. The city itself and its pontiffs can
change nothing in his worship. As priest of the hearth
he recognizes no superior.
As religious chief, he is responsible for the perpetuity
of the worship, and, consequently, for that of the fam-
ily. Whatever affects this perpetuity, which is his firet
care and his first duty, depends upon him alone. From
this flows A whole series of rights: —
The right to recognize the child at its birth, or to
reject it. This right is attributed to the father by the
Greek laws,' as well as by those of Rome. Barbarous
as this is, it is not contrary to the principles on which
the family is founded. Even uncontested filiation is
not sufKcient to admit one into the sacred circle of the
family ; the consent of its chief, and an initiation into
its woi'ship, are necessaiy. So long as the child is not
associated in the domestic religion, he is nothing to
the father.
The right to repudiate the wife, either in case of
sterility, because the family must not become extinct,
or in case of adultery, because the family and the de-
scendants ought to be free from all debasement.
The right to give his daughter in marriage — that is
to say, to cede to another the power which he has over
her. The right of marrying his son ; the marriage of
the son concerns the perpetuity of the family.
' Herodotus, I. 69. Plutarch, Alcib., 23 ; Agesilaus, 3.
CHAP. VIU. AUTHOEITY IN THE FAMILY. 119
The right to emancipate^ that is to say, to exclude
a son from the family and the worshij). The liglit to
adopt — that is to say, to introduce a stranger to the
domestic hearth.
The right, at his death, of naming a guardian for bis
wife and children.
It is necessary to remark that all these rights be-
longed to the father alone, to the exclusion of all the
other members of the family. The wife had not tlie
right of divorce, at least in primitive times. Even when
a widow, she could neither emancipate nor adopt. She
was never the guardian even of her own children. In
case of divorce, the children remained with the father,
— even the daughters. Her children were never in her
power. Her consent was not asked for the marriage
of her own daughter.' __
II. We have seen above that property was not
understood, originally, as an individual right, but as a
family right; The fortune, as Plato says, formally, and
as all the ancient legislators say, implicitly, belongs to
the ancestors and the descendants. This property, by
its very nature, could not be divided. There could be
in each family but one proprietor, which was the family
itself, and only one to enjoy the use of property — the
father. This principle explains several peculiarities of
ancient law.
The property not being capable of division, and rest-
ing entirely on the head of the father, neither wife nor
children had the least part in it. The dotal system,
and even the community of goods, were then unknown.
The dowry of the wife belonged, without reserve, to
the husband, who exercised over her dowry not only
' Demosthenes, in Euhul., 40 and 43. Gaius, I. 165. Ulpian,
VIII. 8. Institutes, I. 9. Digest, I. tit. 1, 11.
120 THE FAMILT. BOOK n.
the rights of an administrator, but of an owner. What-
ever the wife might have acquired during her maniage
fell into the hands of her husband. She did not even
recover her dower on becoming a widow.'
The son was in the same condition as the wife ; he
owned nothing. No donation made by him was valid,
since he had nothing of his own. He could acquire
nothing; the fruits of his laboi', the profits of his trade,
were his father's. If a will was made in his favor by a
stranger, his father, not himself, received the legacy.
This explains th*) provision of the Roman law which
forbade all contracts of sale between father and son. If
the father sold to the son, he sold to himself^ as the
son acquired only for the father."
We see in the Roman laws, and we find also in the
laws of Athens, that a father could sell his son.' This
was because t'je father might dispose of all the prop-
erty of the family, and the son might be looked upon as
pi-operty, since his labor was a source of income. The
father might, therefore, according to choice, keep this
instrument of labor, or resign it to another. To resign
it was called selling the son. The texts of the Roman
law that we have do not inform us clearly as to the
nature of this contract of sale, nor on the reservations
that might have been contained in it. It appeare cer-
tahi ili^.t tlie son thus sold did not become the slave of
tlie purchaser. His liberty was not sold ; only his labor.
' Gains, II. 98. All these rules of primitive law were modi-
fied by the pretorian law.
= Cicero, De Legib., 11. 20. Gaius, II. 87. Digest, XTIII.
lit. 1, 2.
'■> Plutarch, Solon, 13. Dionys. of Halic, II. 26. Gaius, I.
117; I. 132; IV. 79. Ulpian, X, 1. Livy, XLI. 8. Festus, t.
Deminutus,
cra,iP. Tin. authoeity in the family. 121
Even in this state the son remained subject to the
paternal authority, which proves that he was not con-
sidered to have left the family. We may suppose that
this sale had no other effect than to cede the possession
of the son for a time by a sort of contract to hire.
Later it was employed only as an indirect means of
emancipating the sou.
III. Plutarch informs us that at Rome women could
not appear in court even as witnesses.' We read in
the jurisconsult Gaius, " It should be known that noth-
ing can be granted in the way of justice to persons
under power — that is to say, to wives, sons, and
slaves. For it is reasonably concluded that, since
these persons can own no property, neither can they
reclaim anything in point of justice. If a son, sub-
ject to his father's will, has committed a crime, the
action lies against the father; nor has the father him-
self any action against his son." '
From all this it is clear that the wife and the son
could not be plaintiffs or defendants, or accusers, or
accused, or witnesses. Of all the family the father
alone could appear before the tribunal of the city;
public justice existed only for him ; and he alone was
responsible for the crimes committed by his family.
Justice for wife and son was not in the city, because
it was in the house. The chief of the family was their
judge, placed upon a judgment seat in virtue of liis
marital and parental authority, in the name of the fam-
ily and under the eyes of the domestic divinities."
' Plutarch, PubKcola, 8. ' Gains, II. 96 ; IV. 77, 78.
' There came a time when this jurisdiction was modified ; the
lather consulted the whole family, and formed it into a tribunal,
over which he presided. Tacit., XIII. 32. Digest, XXIII. tit.
1, 5. Plato, Laws, IX.
122 THE FAMILY. BOOK II.
Livy relates that the senate, wishing to extirpate
the worship of Bacchus from Rome, decreed the pun-
ishment of death against all who had taken part in it.
The decree was easily executed upon the citizens, but
when it came to the women, who were not the least
guilty, a grave difficulty presented itself; the women
were not answerable to the state; the family alone had
the right to judge them. The senate respected this
old principle, and left to the fathers and husbands the
duty of pronouncing the sentence of death against the
women.
This judicial authority, which the chief of the family
exercised in his house, was complete and without a2}peal.
He could condemn to death like the magistrate in the
city, and no authority could modify his sentence. " The
husband," says Cato the Elder, "is the judge of his
wife ; his power has no limit ; he can do what he
wishes. If she has committed a fault, he punishes her;
if she has drank wine, he condemns her; if she has
been guilty of adultery, he kills her." The right was
the same in regard to children. Valerius Maximus
cites a certain Atilius who killed his daughter as guilty
of unchastity, and everybody will recall the father who
put his son, an accomplice of Catiline, to death.
Facts of this nature are numerous in Homan history.
It would be a false idea to suppose that the father had
an absolute right to kill his wife and children. He
was their judge. If he put them to death, it was only
by virtue of his right as judge. As the father of the
family was alone subject to the judgment of the city,
the wife and the son could have no other judge than
him. Within his family he was the only magistrate.
We must also remark that the paternal authority
was not an arbitrary power, like that which would be
CHAP. IX. MOEAI,S OP THE ANCIENT FAMILY. 123
derived from the right of the strongest. It had its
foundation iu a belief which all shared alike, and it
found its limits in this same belief For example : the
father had the right to exclude his son from the fam-
ily ; but he well knew that if he did this the family ran
a risk of becoming extinct, and the manes of his .ances-
tors of falling into eternal oblivion. He had the right
to adopt a stranger ; but religion forbade him to do
this if ha had a son. He was sole proprietor of the
goods ; but he had not, at least originally, a right to
alienate them. He could repudiate his wife ; but to
do this he had to break the religious bond which mar-
riage had established. Thus religion imposed upon the
father as many obligations as it conferred rights.
Such for a long time was the ancient family. The
spiritual belief was sufficient without the need of the
law of force, or of the authority of a social power to
constitute it regularly, to give it a discipline, a govern-
ment and justices and to establish private-law in all its
details.
CHAPTER IX.
Morals of the Aacieut Family.
HiSTOHT does not study material facts and institu-
tions alone ; its true object of study is the h^man
mind : it should aspire to know what this mind has
believed, thought, and felt in the different ages" of the
life of the human race.
We described, at the opening of this book, the an-
cient opinion which men held concerning their destiny
after death. We have shown how this creed produced
124 THE FAMILY. BOOK II.
domestic institutions and private law. It remaiiis to
discover what its action was upon morals in primitive
societies. Without pretending that this old religion
created moral sentiments in the heart of man, we may
at least believe that it was associated with them to
fortify them, to give them greater authority, to assure
their supremacy and their right of direction over the
conduct of men, sometimes also to give them a false
bias.
The religion of "these primitive ages was exclusively
domestic ; so also were morals. Religion did not say
to a man, showing him another man. That is thy
brother. It said to him, That is a stranger ; he can-
not participate in the religioxis acts of thy hearth ; he
cannot approach the tomb of thy family ; he has other
gods than thine, and cannot unite with thee in a com-
mon prayer ; thy gods reject his adoration, and regard
him as their enemy ; he is thy foe also.
In this religion of the hearth man never supplicates
the divinity in favor of other men ; he invokes him
only for himself and his. A Greek proverb has re-
mained as a souvenir and a vestige of this ancient isola-
tion of man in prayer. In Plutarch's time they still
said to the egotist, You sacrifice to the hearth." This
signified, Tou separate yourself fi-om other citizens ;
you have no friends ; your fellow-men are nothing to
you; you live solely for yourself and yours. This
proverb pointed to a time when, all religion being
around the hearth, the horizon of morals and of aflfeo-
tion had not yet passed beyond the narrow circle of
the family.
It is natural that moral ideas, like religious ideas,
' 'Eariif Btiiis. Pseudo-Plutarch, ed. Dubner, V. 167.
CHAP. IX, MOKALS OF THE ANCIENT FAMILY. 125
should have their commencement and progresa, and
the god of the primitive generations in this race was
very small ; by degrees men made him larger ; so
morals, very narrow and incomplete at first, became
insensibly enlarged,; until, fi'om stage to stage, they
reached the point of pi:oielaiming the duty of love to-
wards all mankind. The point of departure was the
family, and it was under the influence of the domestic
religion that duties first appeared to the eyes of man.
Let us picture to ourselves this religion of the fire
and of the tomb in its flourishing period. Man sees
a divinity near him. It ia present, like conscience it-
self, to his minutest actions. This fragile being finds
himself under the eye of a witness who never leaves
him. He never feels himself alone. At his side in
the house, in the field, he has protectors to sustain him-
in the toils of life, and judges to punish his guilty ac-
tions. " The Lares," said the Romans, " are formida-
ble divinities, whose duty it is to punish mankind, and
to watch over all that passes in the interior of the
house." The Penates they also describe as "gods
who enable us to live ; they nourish om- bodies and
regulate our minds," '
Men loved to apply to the holy iire the epithet of
chaste, and they believed that it enjoined chastity upon -
mortals. No act materially or morally impure could
be committed in its presence.
The first ideas of wrong, of chastisement,, of expia-
tion, seem to have come from this. The man who felt
guilty no longer dared to approach his own hearth;
his god repelled him. He who had shed blood was
no longer allowed to sacrifice, or to offer libations, or
' Plutarch, Rom. Quest., 61. Macrobius, Sat., III. 4.
126 THE FAMILY. BOOK- H.
prayer, or to offer the sacred repast. The god was so
severe that he admitted no excuse ; he did not dis-
tinguish between an invohintary murder and a pre-
meditated crime. The hand stained with blood could
no longer touch sacred objects.' To enable a man to
renew his worship, and to regain possession of his
god, he was required at least to purify himself by an
expiatory ceremony.' This religion knew pity, and
had rites to efface the stains of the soul. Narrow and
material as it was, it still knew how to console man for
his errors.
If it absolutely ignored the duties of chanty, at any
rate it traced for man with admirable precision his
family duties. It i-endered marriage obligatory ; celi-
bacy was a crime in the eyes of a religion that
made the perpetuity of the family the iirst and most
holy of duties. But the union which it prescribed
could be accomplished only in the presence of the
domestic divinities ; it is the religious, sacred, indisso-
luble union of the husband and wife. No man could
omit the rites, and make of marriage a simple contract
by consent, as it became in the latest period of Greek
and Roman society. This ancient religion forbade it,
and if one dared to offend in this particular, it pun-
ished him for it. For the son sprung from such a
union was considered a bastard, that is to say, a being
who had neither place nor sacred fire ; he had no right
1 •) perform any sacred act ; he could not pray.'
This same religion watched with care over the
purity of the family. In its eyes the greatest of crimes
'. was adultery. For the first rule of the worship was
i
' Hdts., I. 35. Virgil, ^n., II. 719. Plutarch, Theseus, 12.
= ApoUonius of Ehodes, IV. 70i-707. iEsoh., Ohoeph., 96.
" Isaeus, VIZ. Demosthenes, in Mwart.
CHAP. IX. MORALS OF THK ANCIENT FAMILY. 127
that the sacred fire should be transmitted from father
to son, and. adultery disturbed the order of birth. An-
other rule was, that the tomb should contain only mem-
bers of the family ; but the son born of adultery was a
stranger. If he was buiied in the tomb, all the princi-
ples of the religion were violated, the worship defiled,
the sacred fire became impure; every offering at the
tomb became an act of impiety. Worse still, by
adultery the series of descendants was broken ; the
family, even though living men knew it not, became
extinct, and there was no more divine happiness for
the ancestors. The Hindu also says, " The son born
of adultery annihilates in this world and in the next
the offerings made to the manes."
Here is the reason that the laws of Greece and
Rome give the father the right to reject the child just
born. Here, too, is the reason that they are so rigor-
ous, so inexorable, against adultery. At Athens the
husband is allowed to kill the guilty one. At Rome
the husband, as the wife's judge, condemns her to
death. This religion was so severe that a man had
not even the right to pardon completely, and that he
was forced at least to repudiate his wife.^
These, then, are the first moral and domestic laws
discovered and sanctioned. Here is, besides the nat-
ural sentiment — ap irapei'ious religion, which tells the
husband and wife that they are united forever, and
' Laws of Mann, III. 17S.
* Demosthenes, in Near., 89. Though this primitive moral-
ity condemned adultery, it did not reprove incest; religion
authorized it. The prohibitions relative to marriage were the
reverse of ours. One might marry his sister (Demosthenes, in
Near., 22 ; Corn. 'Se^aa., 'procemium ; id., Life of Cimon ; Minu-
cius Felix, in OUavio), but it was forbidden, as a principle, to
marry a woman of another city.
128 THE FAMILY. BOOK Tl.
that from this union flow rigorous duties, the neglect
of which brings with it the gravest consequences in
this life and in the next. Hence came the serioms and
sacred character of the conjugal union among the an-
cients, and the purity which the family long preserved.
This domestic morality prescidbed still other duties.
It taught the wife that she ought to obey ; the hus-
band, that he ought to command. It instructed both
to respect each other. The wife had rights, for she
had her place at the sacred fire ; it was her duty to see
that it did not die, out.' She too, then, has her priest-
hood. Where she is not found, the domestic worship
is incomplete and insufficient. It was a great misfor-
tune to a Greek to have a " hearth deprived of a wife."'
Among the Romans the presence of the wife was so
necessary in the sacrifices that the priest lost his office
on becoming a widower."
It was, doubtless, to this division of the domestic
priesthood that the mother of the family owed the
veneration with which they never ceased to surround
her in Greek and Roman society ; hence it came that
the wife had the same title in the family as the hus-
band. The Romans said pater familias and mater
/amilias / the Greeks, olxoSean6irjg and oixSionoina ;
the Hindus, grihapati and grehapatni. Hence also
came this formula, which the wife pronounced in the
Roman marriage : uM tu Ccmts, ego Caia — a formula
which tells us that, if in the house there was not equal
authority, there was equal dignity.
As to the son, we have seen him subject to the
' Cato, 143. Dionys. of Halic, II. 22. Laws of Manu, III.
G2; V. 161.
* Xenophon, Govt, of the Lacedamonians,
' Plutarch, Som. Quest., 60.
CHAP. IX. MOKALS OP THE ANCIENT FAMILY. 129
authority of a father, who could sell him or condemn
him to death. But this son had also his part in the
worship ; he filled a place in the religious ceremonies ;
Ms presence on certain days was so necessary that the
'Roman wTio bad no son was forced to adopt a fictiiious
one for those days, in order that the rites might be per-
formed.' And here religion establislied a very power-
ful bond between father and son. They believed in a
second life in the tomb — a life happy and calm if the
fnneral repasts were regularly oBfcred. Thus the father
is convinced ttiat Ms destiny ^er this life will depend
upon the care that his son will take of his tomb, and the
son, on Tiis part, is convinced that his father will be-
come a god after death, wliom he will have to invoke.
"We can imagine how much respect and Teeiproc;il
affection this Taelief would establish in the family. The
ancients gave to the domestic virtues the name of
piety — the obedience of the son to his father, the love
which he tore to lis mother. This was piety — /jietes
erga parentes. The attachment of the father for the
child, the tenderness of the mother, — these, too, were
piety — pietas ergaWberos. Evei'y thing in the family
was divine. The sense of duty, natural affection, the
religious idea, — all these were confounded, were con-
sidered as one, ^nd wfire expressed by the same word.
It will, peAaps, appear strange to find love of home
counted among the virtues; but it was so counted
among the ancients. This sentiment had a deep and
powerful hold upon their minds. Anchises, when he
sees Troy in fl'ames, is still unwilling to leave his old
home. TJlysses, when .countless treasures, and immor-
tality itself, are oW&r&A feina,, wisihes only again to •see
the flame of his own heartb-fiire. Let us come down to
' Dionys. of Halic, II. 20, 22.
9
130 THIS FAMILY. BOOK II.
Cicero's time ; it is no longer a poet, but a statesman,
who speaks: "Here is my religion, here is my race,
here are the traces of ray forefathers. I cannot express
the charm which I find here, and which penetrates my
heart and my senses." ' We must place ourselves, in
thought, in the midst of these primitive generations to
understand how lively and powerful were these senti-
ments, which were already enfeebled in Cicero's day.
For us the house is merely a domicile — a shelter ; we
leave it, and forget it with little trouble ; or, if we are
attached to it, this is merely by the force of habit and of
recollections; because, for us, religion is not there;
our God is the God of the universe, and we find him
everywhei-e. It was entirely different among the an-
cients ; they found their principal divinity within the
house : this was their providence, which protected
them individually, which heard their prayers, and
granted their wishes. Out of the house, man no longer
felt the presence of a god ; the god of his neighbor
was a hostile god. Then a man loved his house as he
now loves his church."
Thus the religion of the primitive ages was not
foreign to the moral development of this part of hu-
manity. Their gods enjoined purity, and forbade the
shedding of blood ; the notion of justice, if it was not
born of this belief, must at least have been fortified by
it. These gods belonged in common to all the mem-
bers of the same family ; thus the family was united
by a powerful tie, and all its members learned to love
and respect each other. These gods lived in the in-
' Cicero, De Legih., ir. 1. Pro Domo, 41.
" Of the sanctity of the aomieile, which the ancients always
spoke of as inviolable, Demosthenes, in Androt., 52; in Ever-
gum, 60. Digest, de in jus iioc, II. 4.
CHAP. X. THE GENS AT EOME AND IN GREECE. 13]
terior of each house ; a man loved his house, his home,
fixed and durable, which he had received from his an-
cestors, and which he transmitted to his children as a
sanctuary.
Ancient morality, governed by this belief, knew no
charity; but it taught at least the domestic virtues.
Among this race the isolation of the family was the
commencement of morals. Duties, clear, precise, nnd
imperious, appeared, but they were restricted within a
narrow circle. This narrow character of primitive
morals we must recollect as we proceed ; for civil so-
ciety, founded later on these same principles, put on
the same character, and several singular traits of an-
cient politics are explained by this fact.'
CHAPTER X.
The Gens at Rome and in Greece.
We find in the writings of Roman jurists and in
Greek writers the traces of an antique institution which
appears to have had its flourishing period in the first
ages of Greek and Italian societies, but which, be-
coming enfeebled by degrees, left vestiges that were
hardly perceptible in the later portion of their history.
We speak of what the Romans called gens., and the
Greeks y^voc.
• What is said of ancient morals in this chapter is intended to
apply to those peoples that afterwards became Greeks and Ro-
mans. This morality was modified with time, especially among
the Greeks. Already in the Odyssey we find new sentiments and
other manners.
132 THE FAMILY. BOOK 0.
As the nature and constitution of the gens .have beem
much discussed, it may not be amiss here ilo point oJit
what has conetirtuted the difEoulty of the problem.
The ffens, as we shall see presently, formed a body
whose •constitution was radically aristocratic Xt was
through their internal organization that the patiicians
of Rome and the Enpatrids of Atbens were able to
perpetuate their pilvileges for so long a time. 2fo
sooner had the popular pasjty gained the upper hand,
than they .attacked this old insititution with all their
power. If they bad been able completely to destroy
jt, they would probably not liave left us the slightest
memorial of it. But it was siogularly eEdowed with
vitality, and deeply rooted in their maaneE%uad they
could not entirely blot it out. They therefore contented
themselves with modifying it. They took away its essen-
tial character, and left only its external features, which
were not in the way of the new regime. Thus, at Rome,
the plebeians undertook to form ffentes, in imitation of
the patricians ; at Athens they attempted .to overthrow
the gentes,to blend them together, and to replace them
by the demes, which were established in imLtatioa of
them. We .shaU have to return to the subject when
we speak of the revolutions. Let it suffice here for us
to remark, that fliis .proibaud alteration which the
democracy introduced into the regime of the ffens is
of a nature to mislead those who undertake to learn
its primitive constitution. Indeed, almost all the in-
formation concerning it that has come down to us dates
from the epoch when it had been thus transformed,
and shows us only ithat paat whieh the revolutions had
■alowed to subsist.
Let us suppose that, twenty centuries hence, all
knowledge of the middle ages has perished; that there
CHAE. X. THE GENS JtT HOME AND IN GREECE. J3S
remain no documents relating to what passed before
the levalutian of 1789 j aJid- that,: notwithstainding this,
an historian of that time wishes to form an idea of insti-
tutions of an earlier- date. The only documents that he
would have at Jiand would show him the. nobiMty of
the ffliineteenth century — that is to say, something very
different from tbat of feudalism', hut he would snspecfc
that a great revolution had taken place, and he would
riglitly conclude that this institution, like all the others,
must have been modified. This nobility, wliich his au-
thorities would describe to- him,, would- no longec be
for him an-ythaig but the shadow or the enfeebled,
aind altei-ed ioniage of anotbcr nobirlitj, incomparably
more powerful. Finally, if be examined with attention
the sligliiit remains of ancient monuments, a few ex-
pressions preserved in the language, a few terms
escaiped- from th« law, vague soavenira oi- sterile re-
grets, he wonlid perhaps be able to> conjecture 8ome>-
thing concernang the feudal system, and wouW obtain
an idiea of the institratioms of the raiddie' ages; tJiat.
would not be very far from the truth. The difficulty
would assiirexUy be great; nor is it less for himi who
to-day desires to wnderstand the amtique gens; for he
baa no information regarding it except what dates froioii
a time when it was no longer anything but a shadkrw
of itself.
We will commence by anaiiyziBg all that the ameienA
writers tell us of the gens ; that is to say, what remained
of it at the- epoch when, it was aJjieadiy greatly changed.
Then, by the' aid of these remaibs, we shall aittempt to
catch a glitnpse of the- veritable system of the anti'qu'e'
yens.
134 THE FAMILY. BOOK II.
1. What Ancient Writers tell us of the Gene. ,
If we open a Roman history at the time of the Punic
wars we meet three pei'sonages, whose names are
Claudius Pulcher, Claudius Nero, and Claudius Centho.
All three belong to the same gens — the Claudian
gens.
Demosthenes in one of his orations produces seven
witnesses, who certify that they belong to the same
yivog, that of the Brytidse. What is remarkable in
this example is, that the seven persons cited as mem-
bers of the same yi^og are inscribed in six different
demes. This shows that the yifo; did not correspond
exactly with the deme, and was not, like it, a simple
administrative division.'
Here is one fact established : there were gentes at
Rome and at Athens. We might cite examples rela-
tive to many other cities of Greece and Italy, and
conclude from them that, in all probability,, this in-
stitution was universal among these ancient nations.
Every gens had a special worship ; in Greece the
tnembers of the same gens were recognized " by the
fact that they had performed saciifices in common from
a vfery early period." ^ Plutarch speaks of the place
where the Lycomedse sacrificed, and .lEschines speaks
of the altar of the gens of the Butadse.'
' Demosthenes, in, Necer., 71. Plutarch, Themist., 1. Ma-
chines, Be Falsa Legat., 147? Bceckh, Corp. Insc, 385. Koss,
Demi Attici, 2i. The gens among the Greeks is often called
noT^a. Pindar, passim.
' Hesychius, '/trcjjTai. Pollux, III. 52, Harpocration, iqytmn;,
^ Plutarch Themist , I. .^Isch., De Falsa Legat., 147.
CHAP. X. THE GENS AT EOME AND IN GREECE, 135
At Rome, too, each gens bad religious ceremonies to
perform; the day, the place, and the rites were fixed
by its particular religion.' When the capital is be-
sieged by the Gauls, one of the Fabil, clothed in re-
ligious robes, and carrying sacred objects in his hands,
is seen to go out and cross the enemy's lines; he goes
to oflfer sacrifice on the altar of his gens, which is situ-
ated on the Quirinal. In the second Punic war,
another Fabius, whom they called the Shield of Rome,
is making head against Hannibal. Certainly it is of the
fii-st importance to the republic that he remains with
his army ; and yet he leaves it in the hands of the im-
prudent Minucins: this is because the anniversary of
the sacrifice of his gens has arrived, and he must be at
Rome to perform the sacred act.'
It was a duty to perpetuate this worship from genera-
tion to generation, and every man was required to
leave sons after him to continue it. Claudius, a per-
sonal enemy of Cicero, abandoned ,bis gens to enter a
plebeian family, and Cicero says to him, " Why do you
expose the religion of the Claudian gens to the risk of
becoming extinct through your fault ? "
The gods of the gens — Dii gentiles — protected no
other gens, and did not desire to be invoked by an-
other. Ifo stranger could be admitted to the religious
ceremonies. It was believed that if a stranger had a
•part of the victim, or even if he merely assisted at the
sacrifice, the gods of the gens were ofiended, and all
the members were guilty of grave impiety.
Just'^is every gens had its worship and its religious
' Cicero, De Arusp. Sesp., 15. Dion. Halic, XI. 14. Fes-
tus, Propudi.
» Livy, V. 46 ; XXII. 18. Valer. Max., 1. 1, 11. Polybius, III.
94. Pliny, XXXIV. 13. Macrobiu8, III. 6.
136' THE FjVMItT. BOOK 11.
festivals, so also it bad its common tomb. We reaxJ' in
an oration of I)emo6thene», " This' man, having lost
his children, buiied them' in the tomb of his fathers, in
that tomb' that is- common tO' all those of his gens."
The rest of the oration sho'ws that no stranger could be^
buried in this tomb. In another discourse, the same
orator speaks of the tomb where the gens' of the Busel-
idae buried its members, and where every year it per-
formed its funeral sacrifices: "this burial-place is a
large field, surrounded with an enctosu-re; according to
the ancient custom." "'
The same was the case among the Romans. Vel-
leius Patereulus spcats of the tomb- of the QuintHian
gens, and Suetonius informs us that the Claudian gens
had one on the slope of the Capitoline Hill.
The ancient l':iw of Rome permits the members' of a
gens to inherit flora each other. The Twelve Tables^
declare that, in default of" sons and of agnates, the
gtnUlis' is the natural heir. According' to this code,
therefore, th'e gentiVes are nearer akin than the cog-
nates; that is to say, nearer than those related through
females.
Nothing is more ctosely united than the members
of a gens. Unrted in the celebration of the same sa-
cred ceremonies, they mutually &\& each other iii all
the ucc ds of life. The entire gens is- responsible for
the debt of one of its members;- it redeem'S' the prison-
er and pays the fine of one condemned. If one of its
members becomes a ma^trate; it unites to pay the
expenses incident to the magistracy."
The accused was accompanied, to the tribunal by all
' Demosthenes, in Macaii,^ 79 ;, im Hubad., 28.
' Livy, V. 32. Dinn. Halici, XIII. 6. Appiany^nnii.,. 28.
CHAP. X. THE GBNS AT ROUE AND IN GREECE. 137
the members of his gens; this marks the close reiaition
wMeh the law estaWished between a man and the body
of which he forni«d a part. For a man to ptead or
bear witness against one of his own gens' was an aict
contrary to religion. A certain Claudius, a man of
some rank, was a personal enemy of Appiua Claiudiua
the Decemvir J yet when the latter wa&pkced on trial,
and was menaced with death, this Claudius appeared
in his defence, and implored the people in Ws favor, but
n-ot without giving themi notice that he took this step
" not on account of any affection which he bore th&
accused, but as a duty."
If a member of a gems could not accuse another
member before a tribunfll of the city, this was because
there was a tribun-al in the gens itself. Each gens bad
its chief, who was' at the same time its judge, its priosty
and its military cGmmander,' Every one knows that
when the Sabine family of the Claudii established itself
at Rome^the three thousand persons who composed it
obeyed a single chief. Later, when the Fabii took
upon' themselves th« whole war • agsiinsli the TeienteSj
we see that this gen» had its chief, who spoke in ita
name before the senate, and who led it. agaiinat the
enemy.'
In Greece, too, each gens bad its: chief; the insevip-
tions confirm this, and they show us that this chief
generally bore th« title of airchom.* Finally, ini Eome,
as in Gireeeci the' gen's had its assemblies j it passed'
laws which its members were boond to obey, and which
the eity viseiS respected.*
I Dion. Halic, II. 7. ' Ibid., IX. 5.
" Boeekh, Corp'. Mserip^ 397, 399. Ross, Demi AttM, 24.
* Livy, VI. 20; Suetonius, TUier., 1. Ross, Demi AiHoi,
2i.
138 THE FAMILY. BOOK n.
Such are the usages and laws which we find still in
force at an epoch when the gens was already enfeebled
and almost destroyed. Such are the remains of this
ancient institution.
a. An Mcamination of certain Opinions that have
been put forth to explain the Roman Gens.
On this subject, which lias long been the therae of
learned controversy, several theories have been offered.
Some say that the gens was nothing more than a simi-
larity in name ; ' others, that the word gens designated
a sort of factitious relationship. Still others hold that
the gens was merely the expression of a relation be-
tween a family which acted as pati'ons and other fami-
lies that were clients. But none of these explanations
answer to the whole series of facts, laws, and usages
which we have just enumerated.
Another opinion, more plausible, is, that the gens was
a political association of several families who were ori-
ginally strangers to each other ; and that in default of
ties of blood, the city established among them an im-
aginary union and a sort of religious relationship.
But a first objection presents itself: If the gens is only
a factitious association, how are we to explain the fact
that its members inherited from each other? Why is the
gentilis preferred to the cognate? It has been seen above
what the rules of succession were, and we have pointed
.out the close and necessary relation which religion had
established between the right of inheritance and mas-
■ Two passages of Cicero, Tuscul., I., 16, and Topica, 6, have
tended to confuse the question. Cicero, like most of his con-
temporaries, appears not to have understood what the ancient
gens really was.
CHiP. X. THE GEJfS AT EOME AKD IK GREECE. 139
culine kinship. Can we suppose that ancient law de-
viated so far from this principle as to accord the right
of succession to the gentiles if they had been strangers
to each other?
The best established and most prominent character-
istic of the gens is, that, like the family, it had a worship.
Now, if we inquire what god each adores, we find almost
always that it is a deified ancestor, and that the altar
where the sacrifice is offered is a tomb. At Athens the Eu-
molpidse worshipped Eumolpus, the author of their race ;
the Phytalidse adored the hero Phytalus; the Butadse,
Butes; the Buselidae, Buselus; the Lakiadse, Lakios;
the Amynandridse, Cecrops.' At Rome the Claudii are
descended from a Clausus ; the Caecilii honored as chief
of their race the hero CsbcuIus ; the Calpurnii, a Calpus ;
the Julii, a Julus ; the ClcBlii, a Cloelus.'
We may easily suppose, it is true, that many of these
genealogies were an afterthought ; but we must admit
that this sort of imposture would have had no motive
if it had not been a constant usage among the real gen-
tes to recognize and to worship' a common ancestor.
Falsehood always seeks to imitate the truth. Besides,
the imposture was not so easy as it might seem to us.
This worship was not a vain formality for parade.
One of the most rigorous rules of the religion was, that
no one should honor as an ancestor any except those
from whom he was really descended; to offer this
worship to a stranger was a grave impiety. If, then,
the members of a gens adored a common ancestor, it
was because they really believed they were descended
' Demosthenes, in Macart., 79. Pausanias, I. 37. Inscrip'
Hon of the Amynandridcs, cited by Ross, p. 24.
' ifestus, CaculuSy Calpurnii, Clcelii.
140 THE FAMILT. BOOK IT.
from him. To counterfeit a tomb, to establish anniver-
saries and an annual woi'ship, would have been to carry
falsehood into what they held most dear, and to triflte-
with religion. Such a fiction was possible in the
time of Caesai', when the old family religion was eh^r-
ished by nobody. But if we go back to the time when
this creed- was in its vigm-, we camnot imagine that sev-
eral families, taking part in the same imposture, could
say to each other, We will pretend to have a common
ancestor ; we will erect him a tomb ', we will offer him
funeral repasts;; and our descendanits shall adore him in
all future time. Such a thought could not have pre-
sented itself to their minds, or it would have been
scouted as an impiety.
In the difficult problems oftea found in history, it iis
well to seek from the terms of lamguage all the instruc-
tion which they can afford. An institution is some-
times explained by tho word that designates it. Now,
the word ffens means exactly the same as the word
ffenus / so completely alike are they that we can take
the one for the other, and say, indifferently, gena Fahia
and gemus Fahium; both correspond to the verb gig-
nere and to the substantive geniim, precisely as fifog
corresponds to yetvav and to yotEig. All these words
convey the same idea of filiation. The Greeks also
deagfnated the members of a yhio? by the word 6iJiciy&'
IttKTE?,, which signifies nourished by the same milk. Let
these words be compared with those which we are ac-
castomed to translate by fa/mily — the Latin familia^
the Greek hms,. Neither of these last has the sense of
generation or of kinship. The true signification of
familia is property; it designates the field, the house,
money, and slaves; and it ib for this reason that the
Twelve Tables say, in speaking of the heir, familidm
CHAP. X. THE GENS AT EOME AND IN GREECE. 141
•nancitor — let him take the &u.ccesaioH. As to -Siaos, it
is dear that this w©rd presents to the mimd noathei-idca
than tJaat of property orof idomieiLe, And yet these are
the words tfcat we haibitaally translate by family. Now,
is it admissible that terms whose intrinsic meaning is thai
lof domicile or property were often used to designaite a
family, and that other words wiioae primairy sense is iili-
latiiom, birth, patea-nity, ihaye never designated anything
but an artificial aasoeiation ? Certainily this would not
be in conformity with -tlie logic, so dai-eot and clear, of , the
sineient languages. It is unquestionable that thej Oreeks
;aiid the Romans attaebed to th« words gens and yiKog
■tjitte idea of a common origin. This idea migh.t have
become obscured after the gens was modified, bui .the
wiord ihas remaisaed to bear witoess of it.
The theory that presents the gens as a factitious
association has •.against it, tJier€.foi«, 1st, the old legis-
Jation, which gives the gentiles the right of inheritance ;
2, the old religion, which allowed a aommon worship only
where there was a common iparenitage ; .3d, the .ternw
■of language, which .attest in ithe gens a .common origia.
The theory has also this other def&e4 .that it supposes
liuman societies to have commenced by a couvention
^nd an artifice — a position which hietofical .science can-
not adtnift as true.
3. The Gens is the Family stiU holding its primitive
Organization .and its Unity.
All the evidence pi-esents us the gens as united by
ithe tie of biilth. Let ius again oons,uJ.t language : the
names of the genties, in Gneece ,as well as in Rome, all
fcave the form which was used in the .two languages for
patronyraiieB. Claudius signifies (the «ob of Olausus, and
Baitadse, the sons of Bjitea.
142 THE FAMILY. BOOK. D.
Those who think they see in the gens an artificial
association, set out from a false assumption. They
suppose that a gens always consisted of several families
having diflferent names, and they cite the Cornelian
gens, which did indeed include Scipios, Lentuli, Cossi,
and Syllae. But this is very far from having heen
a general rule. The Marcian gens appears never to
have had more than a single line. We also find but
one in the Lucretian gens, and but one in the Qiiintil-
ian gens, for a long time. It would certainly be very
difficult to tell what families composed the Fabian gens,
for all the Fabii known in history belong manifestly to
the same stock. At first they all bear the same sur-
name of Vibulanus ; they all change it afterwards for
that of Ambustus, which they replace still later by
Maximus or Dorso.
We know that it was customary at Rome for all
patricians to have three names. One was called, for
example, Publius Cornelius Soipio. It may be worth
the while to inquire which of these three names was
considered as the true name. Publius was merely a
name placed before — prmnomen ; Scipio was a name
added — agnomen. The true name was Cornelius ; and
this name was at the same time that of the whole gens.
Had we only this single indication regarding the an-
cient gens, it would justify us in affirming that there
were Cornelii before there were Scipios, and not, as it
is often said, that the family of the Scipios associated
with others to form the Cornelian gens.
History teaches us, in fact, that the Cornelian gens
was for a long time undivided, and that all the mem-
bers alike bore the surname of Maluginensis, and that of
Cossus. It was not till the time of the dictator Carailliis
that one of its branches adopted the surname of Scipio,
CHAP. X. THE GENS AT BOMB AND IN 6EBECE. 143
A little later another branch took the surname of Rufus,
which it replaced afterwards by that of Sylla. The
Lentuli do not appear till the tirae of the Samnite wars,
the Cethegi not until the second Punic war. It is the
same with the Claudian gens. The Claudii remained
a long time united in a single family, and all bore the
surname of Sabinus or of Regillensis, a sign of their
oi'igin. We follow them for seven generations without
seeing any branches formed in this family, although it
had become very numerous. It was only in the eighth,
that is to say, in the time of the first Punic war, that
we see three branches separate, and adopt three sur-
names which became hereditary with them. These
were thePulchri, who continued during two centuries;
the Centhoa, who soon became extinct, and the Neros,
who continued to the time of the empire.
From all this it is clear that the gens was not an
association of families, but that it was the family itself.
It might either comprise only a single line, or produce
several branches; it was always but one family.
Besides, it is easy to account for the formation of
the antique gens and for its nature, if we but refer to
the old belief and to the old institutions that we have
already described. We shall see, even, that the gens
is derived very naturally from the domestic religion and
from the private law of the ancient ages. Indeed, what
did this primitive religion prescribe ? That the ances-
tor, that is to say, the man who was first buried in the
tomb, should be perpetually honored as a god, and that
his descendants, assembled every year near the sacred
place where he reposed, should ofl'er him the funeral
repast.
This fire always kept burning, this tomb always hon-
ored with a worship, were the centre around which all
144 THE I-AMILT. iBOOK H.
later generations came to live, and by whidh all tfee
branches of the family, however numerous they might
be, remained grouped in a single body. What more
does private law tell us of those ancient ages? Wliile
studying the nature of aathoMty in the ancient faTniily,
we saw that the son did not iseparate fiiom the father ;
whi'le studying the rules for the transmission of the
patrimony, we saw that, on aocoHmt of the right of pri-
mogeniture, the yoninger brothers did not separate from
the oldest. Hearth, tomb, patiiwony, all these, in the
beginning, were indivisible. The family, conseqfuently,
was also indivisible. Time did not dismember it. This
indivisible family, which developed through ages, per-
petuating its worship and its name from century to
century, was really the antique gens. The gens was
the family, but the family having preserved the umVy
which its religion ■enjoined, and having attained all the
development whicli ancient private law permitted it to
attain.'
' We need not repeat what we liave already said of agnation
-(B. II., ch. v). We can see that agnaiio and gentilitas — the
relationship of the gentiles — flowed from tlie same principles,
and were ifilationships of the same nature. The j)a6sage in Hm
iaw of ,the Twelve Tahles which assigns the inheritance to Jhfi
gentHes, in defa.u\t ot agnati, embarrassed the jurisconsults, and
led to the opinion that ther,e was an essential difference between
these two kinds of kinship. But this difference is nowhere
found. One was agnalius, as one was gent'^is, by masculine de-
scent and Che religious bond. There was only a differemce of
(degsroe, which ibesgan when the branches of the same gens were
separated. The .ag,ttatus was a member of the .branch ; the gen-
tilis of the gens. There was therefore the same distinction
between the terms gentilis and agnatvs as between the words
gens and familia. Familiam dicimvs omnium agnatorum,
says tJlpian in the Digest, L. tit., 16, § 198. One, when he was
the agnate of a man, was, for a still etronger reason, his geirti-
(iOAP. X. THE GENS AT ROME AND IN GREECE. 145
This tiTith admitted, all that the ancient writers have
told us of the gens becomes clear. T)ie close unity
which we have remarked among its members is no
longer surprising ; they are related by birth, and the
worship which they practise in common is not a fiction ;
it comes to them from their ancestors. As they are .'i
single family, they have a common tomb. For the
same reason the law of the Twelve Tables declares
them qualified to inherit each other's property. For
the same reason, too, they bear the same name. As all
had, in the beginning, a single undivided patrimony, it
was a custom, and even a necessity, that the entire gens
should be answerable for the debt of one of its mem-
bers, and that they should pay the ransom of the pris-
oner and the fine' of the convict. All these rules be-
came established of themselves while the gens still
retained its unity; when it was dismembered they
could not disappear entirely. Of the ancient and sa-
cred unity of this family there remain persistent traces
in the annual sacrifices which assembled the scattered
members ; in the name that remained common to them ;
in the legislation which recognized the right oi gentiles
to inherit ; in their customs which enjoined them to
aid each other.'
lis ; but he could not be a gentilis without being an agnate. The
law of the Twelve Tables gave the inheritance, in default of ag-
nates, to those who were only gentiles of the deceased, that
is to say, who were of his gens, without bring of his branch or
of his famiUa.
^ The use of patronymics dates from this high antiquity, and
is connected with this old religion. Every gens transmitted the
name of the ancestor from generation to generation with tlip
same care as it perpetuated its worship. What tlie Konians called
nomen was this name of the ancestor which all the members
of the gens bore. A day came when each branch, becoming
10
146 THE FAMILY. BOOK IL
4. The Family {Gens) was at fast the only Form of
Society.
What we have seen of the family, its domestic re-
ligion, the gods which it had created for itself, the
laws that it had estahlished, the right of primogeniture
on which it had been founded, its unity, its develop-
ment from age to age until the formation of the gens,
its justice, its priesthood, its internal government, — car-
ries us forcibly, in thought, towards a primitive epoch,
when the family was independent of all superior power,
and when the city did not yet exist.
When we examine the domestic religion, those gods
who belonged only to one family and exercised theii
providence only within the walls of one house, this
worship which was secret, this religion which would
independent in certain respects, marked its individaality by
adopting a surname {fognmaenC). Each person was, moreoTer,
distinguished by a particular denomination, agnomen, as Oaius,
or Quintus. But the true name, the official name, the sacred
name, was that of the gens ; this, coming from the first Icnown
ancestor, was to last as long as the family and the gods lasted.
It was the same in Greece. Every Greek, at least if he belonged
to an ancient and regularly established &mily, had, like the
Roman patrician, three names. One was his individual name;
another was that of his father ; and as these two generally alter-
nated with each other, they were, together, equivalent to the
hereditary cognomen, which at Borne designated a branch of the
gens. Lastly, the third name was that of the entire gens. Ex-
amples : MiXriairii Kifiiavoe JaxiuStig, and in the following gen-
eration, Kifiiav MtXriuSov jlaxiudiiq. The Lakiadse formed a
ylvos, as the Cornelii formed a gens. It was the same with the
Butadae, the Phytalidse, &c. Pindar never extols his heroes
without recalling the name of their ysvoj. This name, in Greek,
usually ended in iiiijs or aJijs, and thus had an adjective form, just
as the name of the gens among the Romans invariably ended in
CHAP. X, THE GENS AT ROME AND IN GEEECB, 147
not be propagated, this antique morality which pre-
scribed the isolation of families, ■— it is clear that beliefs
of this nature could not have taiken root in the minds
of men, except in an age when larger societies were
not yet formed. If the religious sentiment was satis-
fied with so narrow a conception of the divine, it was
because human associations were then narrow in pro-
portion. The time when men believed only in the
domestic gods was the time when there existed only
families. It is quite true that this belief might have
subsisted afterwards, and even for a long time, when
cities and nations existed. Man does not easily free
himself from opinions that have once exercised a strong
influence over him. This belief might endure, there-
fore, even when it was in disaccord with the social
state. What is there, Indeed, more contradictory than
to live in civil society and to have particular gods in
ivs. This was none the less the true name. In daily life a man
might be called by his individual surnanje ; but in (he official
language of politics or religion, his complete name, and above
all the name of the Yivog, was required. (Later the democracy
substituted the name of the deme for that of the 'ylvog.) The
history of names followed a different course in ancient from
what it has followed in modern times. In tho middle ages,
until the twelfth century, the true name was the individual or
baptismal name. Patronymics came quite late, as names of
estates or surnames. It was just the reverse among the an-
cients ; and this difference is due to tlie difference of the two
religions. Tor the old domestic religion, the family was the
true body, of which the individual was but an inseparable mem-
ber ; the patronymic was, therefore, the first name in date and
in importance. The new religion, on the contrary, recognized
in the individual complete liberty and entire personal indepen-
dence, and was not in the least opposed to separating him from
the family. Baptismal names were, therefore, the first, and for
a long time the only, names.
148 THE FAMILY. BOOK H.
each family ? But it is clear that this contradiction
did not always exist, and that at the epoch when this
belief was established in the mind, and became power-
ful enough to form a religion, it corresponded exactly
with the social state of man. Now, the only social
state that is in accord with such a belief is that in
which the family lives independent and isolated.
In such a state the whole Aryan race appears to
have lived for a long time. The hymns of the Vedas
confirm this for the branch from which the Hindus are
descended, and the old beliefs and the old private laws
attest it for those who finally became Greeks and
Romans.
If we compare the political institutions of the Aryas
of the East with those of the Aryas of the West, we
find hardly any analogy between them. If, on the con-
trary, we compare the domestic institutions of these
various nations, we perceive that the family was con-
stituted upon the same principles in Greece and in
India ; besides, these principles were, as we have al-
ready shown, of so singular a nature that we cannot sup-
pose this resemblance to have been the work of chance.
Finally, not only do these institutions offer an evident
analogy, but even the words that designate them are
often the same in the different languages which this
race has spoken from the Ganges to the Tiber. From
tills fact we may draw a double conclusion : one is,
that the origin of domestic institutions among the na-
tions of this race is anterior to the period when its
different branches separated ; the other is, that the
origin of political institutions is, on the contrary, later
than this separation. The first were fixed from the
time when the race still lived in its ancient cradle of
Central Asia. The second were formed by degrees in
CHAP. X. THE GElSra AT ROME AND IN GREECE. 149
the different countries to which its migrations con-
ducted. We can catch a glimpse therefore of a long
period, during which men knew no other form of so-
ciety than the family. Then arose the domestic reli-
gion, which could not have taken root in a society
otherwise constituted, and which must long have been
an obstacle to social development. Then also was
established ancient private law, which was found later
to be in disaccord with the interests of a more extended
social organization, but which was in perfect harmony
with the state of society in which it arose.
Let us place ourselves, in thought, thei'efore, in the
midst of those ancient generations whose traces have not
been entirely effaced, and who delegated their beliefs
and their laws to subsequent ages. Each family has
its religion, its gods, its priesthood. Religious isolation
is a law with it; its ceremonies are secret. In death
even, or in the existence that follows it, families do not
mingle ; each one continues to live apart in the tomb,
from which the stranger is excluded. Every family
has also its property, that is to say, its lot of land,
which is inseparably attached to it by its religion ; its
gods — Termini — guard the enclosure, and its Maues
keep it in their care. Isolation of property is so obli-
gatory that two domains cannot be contiguous, but a
band of soil must be left between them, which must be
neutral ground, and must remain inviolable. Finally,
every family has its chief, as a nation would have its
king. It has its laws, which, doubtless, are unwritten,
but which religious faith engraves in the heart of every
man. It has its court of justice, above which there is
no other that one can appeal to. Whatever man really
needs for his material or moral life the family possesses
within itselE It needs nothing from without ; it is an
organized state, a society that suffices for itself.
150 THE FAMILY. BOOK JX.
But this family of the ancient ages is not reduced to
the proportions of the moflern family. In larger sociei-
ties the family separates and deereases. But in thd
absence of every other social organization, it extends,
develops, and ramifies without becoming divided.
Sevei-al younger branches remain grouped around an
older one, near the one sacred fire and the common
tomb.
Still another element entered into the composition of
this antique family. The reciprocal need which the
poor has of the rich, and the rich has of the poor, makes
servants. But in this sort of patriarchal regime ser-
vant and slave were one. We can see, indeed, that
the principle of a free and voluntaiy service, ceasing at
the will of the servant, would ill accord with a social
state in which a family lived isolated. Besides, the
domestic religion did not permit strangere to be ad-
mitted into a family. By some means, then, the ser-
vant must become a member and an integrant part of
the family. This was efieoted by a sort of initiation
of the new comer into the domestic worship.
A curious usage, that subsisted for a long time in
Athenian houses, shows us how the slave entered- the
family. They made him approach the fire, placed him
in the presence of the domestic divinity, and pourisd-
lustral water upon his head. He then shared with the
family some cakes and fruit.' This ceremony bore a
certain analogy to those of marriage and adoption.
It doubtless signified that the new comer, a stranger
the day before, should henceforth be a member of the
family, and share in its reli^on. And thus the slave
' Pemosthenes, in Stephannm, I. 74. Aristophanes, Pluiits,
7G8. These two writers clearly indicate a ceremony, but do not
describe it. The scholiast of Aristophanes adds a few details.
CHAP. X. THE GEKS AT EOMB. AXD IN GEEECE. 151
joined m the prayera, and took part in the festivals.'
The fire pi-oteeted him ; the religion of the Lares be-
longed to him as well as to his master. This is why
the slave was buried in the biirial-plaoe of the famlly.-
But by the very act of acquiring this worship, and,
the right to pray, he lost his liberty. Religion was a
chain that held him. He was bound to the family for
his whole life and after his death.
His master could raise him fi-om his base servitude,
and treat him as a fi-ee man. But the servant did not
on this account quit the family. As he was bound to
it by his worship, he could not, without impiety, sep-
arate from it. Tinder the name of fieedman, or that
of client, he continued to recognize the authority of the
chief or patron, to be under obligationa to him. He
did not marry without the consent of the master,, and
his children continued to obey this, master.
There was thus formed in the midst of the great
family a certain number of small families of clients and
subordinates^ The Romans atti'ibuted the establish-
ment of clientship to Romulus, as if an instLtution of
this nature could have been the work of a man. Client-
ship i» older than Romulus. Besides,, it has existed,
in other countries, in Greece as well as in all Italy.
It was not the cities that established and regulated it ;
th€y, on the contrary,, as we shall presently see, weak-
ened and destroyed it by degrees., Clientship is an
institution of the domestic law, and existed in families
before there were cities.
' Ferias in famuKs habento, Cicero, De Legib. II. 8; II. 12.
2 Quum dominis, turn, famulis religio Larum. Cicero, De
Legib., II. 11. Comp. iEsch., Agam., 1035-1038. The slave
could even perform a religious act in the name of his master.
Cato, De Re Bust., 83. ^
152 THE FAMILY. BOOK. II.
We are not to judge of the clientship of earlier ages
from the clients that we see in Horace's time. The
client, it is clear, was for a long time a servant attached
to a patron. But there was then something to give
him dignity ; he had a part in the worship, and was
associated in the religion of the family. He had the
same sacred fire, the same festivals, the same sacra as
his patron. At Rome, in sign of this religious com-
munity, he took the name of the family. He was con-
sidered as a member of it by adoption. Hence the
close bond and reciprocity of duties between the patron
and the client. Listen to the old Roman law: "If a
patron has done his client wrong, let him be accursed,
sacer esto, — let liini die." The patron was obliged
to protect his client by all the means and with aU
the power of wliich he was master; by his prayers as
a priest, by his lance as a warrior, by his law as a
judge. Later, when the client was called before the
city tribunal, it was the patron's duty to defend him.
It was his duty even to reveal to him the mysterious
formulas of the law that would enable him to gain his
cause. One might testify in court against a cognate,
but not against a client ; and men continued long to
consider their duties towards clients as far above those
towni'ds cognates.' Why? Because a cognate, con-
nected solely through women, was not a relative, and
had no part in the family religion. The client, on the
contrary, had a community of worship; he had, in-
ferior though he was, a real relationship, which con-
sisted, according to the expression of Plato, in adoring
the same domestic gods.
Clientship was a sacred bond which religion had
formed, and which nothing could break. Once the
' Cato, in Aulus Gellius, V. 3 ; XXI. 1.
CHAP. X. THE GENS AT EOMB AND IN GREECE. 153
client of a family, one could never be separated from
it. Clientship was even hereditary.
From all this we see that the family, in the earliest
times, with its oldest branch and its younger branches,
its servants and its clients, might comprise a very
numerous body of men. A family that by its religion
maintained its unity, by its private law rendered itself
indivisible, and through the laws of clientship retained
its servants, came to form, in the course of time, a very
extensive organization, having its hereditary chief.
The Aryan race appears to have been composed of an
indefinite number of societies of this nature, during a
long succession of ages. These thousands of little
groups lived isolated, having little to do with each
other, having no need of one another, united by no
boni religious or political, having each its domain,
each its internal government, each its gods.
BOOK THIRD.
THE CITY.
CHAPTER I.
The Phratxy and the Cury. The Tribe.
As yet we have given no dates, nor can we now. In
the history of these antique societies the epochs are
more easily marked by the succession of ideas and of
institutions than by that of years.
The study of the ancient rules of private law has
enabled us to obtain a glimpse, beyond the times that
are called historic, of a succession of centuries during
which the family was the sole form of society. This
family might then contain within its wide compass
several thousand human beings. But in these limits
human association was yet too narrow ; too narrow for
material needs, since this family hai'dly sufficed for all
the chances of life ; too narrow for the moral needs of
our nature, for we have seen how incomplete was the
knowledge of the divine, and how insufficient was the
morality of this little world.
The smallness of this primitive society corresponded
well with the narrowness of the idea then entertained
of the divinity. Every family had its gods, and men
neither conceived of nor adored any save the domestic
151
CHAP. 1. THE PHEATEY AlTD THE C0ET. 155
ciivinities. But be could not have contented himself
long with these gods, so much below what his intelli-
gence might attain. If many centuries were requived
for him to arrive at the idea of God as a being unique,
incomparable;, infinite, he must at any rate have insen-
sibly appifoached this ideal, by enlarging his conception
from age to age, and by extending little by Uttle the
horizon whose line separated for him the divine Being
from the things of this world.
The religious idea and human society went on, there-
fore, expanding at the same time.
The domestic religion foi^bade two ^milies to mingle
and unite; but it was possible for several families, ^.
without sacrificing anything of their special religions, ^
to join, at least, for the celebration of another worship
which might have been common to all of them. And
this is what happened. A certain number of families
formed a group, called, in the Grieek language, a phra-
tria, in the Latin, a curia.' Did there exist the tie of
birth between the families of the same group ? This
cannot be affirmed. It is clear, however, that this new
association was not formed without a certain enlarge-
ment of religious ideas. Even at the moment when
they united, these families conceived the idea of a
divinity superior to that of the household. One who was
common to all, and who watched over the entire group.
They raised an altar to him, lighted a sacred fire, and
founded a worship.
There was no cury or phratry that had not its altar y}/'-
' Homer, Iliad, 11. 362. Demosthefles, in Macart. leseas,
III. 37; VI. 10; IX. S3. Phratries at Thebes, Pindar, Isthm.,
VII. 18, and Scholiast. Phrairia and curia are two terms that
were translated the one by the other. Dion, of Halic, H. 85;
Dion Cassius, fr. 14.
156 THE CITT. BOOK III.
and its protecting god. The religious act here was of
the same nature as in the family. It consisted essen-
tially of a repast, partaken of in common ; the nourish-
ment had been prepared upon the altar itself, and was
consequently sacred ; while eating it, the worshippers
recited prayers ; the divinity was present, and received
his part of the food and drink.
These religious repasts of the cury lasted a long time
at Rome ; Cicero mentions them, and Ovid describes
them.' In the time of Augustus they had still pre-
served all their antique forms. "I have seen, in those
sacred dwellings," says a historian of this epoch, " the
repast displayed before the god ; the tables were of
wood, according to ancestral usage, and the dishes were
of earthen ware. The food was loaves, cakes of fine
flour, and fruits. I saw the libations poured out ; they
did not fall from gold or silver cups, but from vessels
of clay, and I admired the men of our day who remain
so faithful to the rites and customs of their fathers."'
At Athens these repasts took place during the festival
called Apaturia?
There were usages remaining in the latest period of
Greek history which throw some light npon the nature
of the ancient phratry. Thus we See that in the time
' Cicero, De Orat., I. 7. Ovid, Fast., VI. 305. Dionysias,
II. 68.
" Dionysius, II. 23. And yet some clianges had been intro-
duced. The feasts of the cury had become a vain formality.
The members of the cury willingly neglected them, and the
custom was introduced of replacing the common meal by a dis-
tribution of victuals and money. Plautus, Aulularia, V. 69
and 137.
' Aristophanes, Acharn., 146. Athenaeus, IV. p. 171. Suidas,
'.^nroTovgio.
CHAP. I. THE PHEATET AND THE CUET. 157
of Demosthenes, to be a member of a pbratry, one must
have been bora of a legitimate marriage in one of the
families that composed it ; for the religion of the phra-
try, like that of tlie family, was transmitted only by
blood. The young Athenian was presented to the
phratry by his father, who swore that this was his son.
The admission took place with a religious ceremony.
The phratry sacrificed a victim, and cooked the flesh
upon the altar. All the members were present. If
they refused to admit the new comer, as they had a
right to do, if they doubted the legitimacy of his birth,
they took away the flesh from the altar. If they did
not do this, if, after cooking, they shared with the
young man the flesh of the victim, then he was admitted,
and became a member of the association.' The ex-
planation of these practices is, that the ancients believed
any nourishment prepared upon an altar, and shared
between several persons, established among them an
indissoluble bond and a sacred union that ceased only
with life.
Every phratry or cnry had a chief, a curion, or phra-
tiiarch, whose principal function was to preside at the
sacrifices.' Perhaps his attributes were at first more
extensive. The phratry had its assemblies and its tri-
bunal, and could pass decrees. In it, as well as in the
family, there were a god, a worship, a priesthood, a legal
tribunal, and a government. It was a small society
that was modelled exactly upon the family.
The association naturally continued to increase, and
after the same fashion ; several phra tries, or curies,
were grouped together, and formed a tribe.
' Demosthenes, in Eubul. ; in Macart. Isseus, VIII. 18.
* Dionysius, II. 64. Varro, V. 83. Demosthenes, in Eubul.,
23.
158 THE CITY. BOOK in.
This new circle also had its religion ; in each tribe
there were an altar and a protecting divinity.
The god of the tribe was generally of the same
nature as that of the phratry, or that of the family. It
was a man deified, a hero. From him the tribe took
its name. The Greeks called him the eponymous
hero. He had his annual festal day. The principal
part of the religious ceremony was a repast, of which
the entire tribe partook.'
The tribe, like the phratry, held assemblies and
passed decrees, to which all the members were obliged
to submit. It had a chief, tribunus, cpvloSamieis,' From
what remains to us of the tribe we see that, originally,
it was constituted to be an independent society, and as
if there had been no other socaal power above it.
' Demosthenes, in Theocrinem. .Slschines, UI. 27. Isseus^
VII. 36. FansaiUas, I. 88. ScboU, m Demosth., 70^ In the
history of the ancients a distinption must be made between the
religious tribes and the local tribes. We speak here only of
the first : the second came long afterwards. There were tribes
everywhere in Greece. Mad, U. 362, 668 ; Odyssey, XIX. 177;
Herodotus, IV. 161.
' iEschines, III. 30,31. Aristotle, Frag., cited ^y Photiua,
V. NavxQaQia. Pollux, VIII. 111. Boeckh, Corp. Tnscr., 82, 85,
108. Few traces remain of the political and religious organiza-
tion of the three primitive tribes of Borne. These tribes were
too considerable bodies for the city not to attempt to weaken
them and take away their independence. The plebeians, more-
over, labored to abolish them.
CHAP. 11. NEW EBLIGIOtTS BELIEFS. 159
CHAPTER 11.
New Beligious Beliefs.
1. The Gods of Physical Nature.
Before passing from the foimation of tribes to the
establishment of cities, we must mention an important
element in the intellectual life of those ancient peoples.
When we sought the most ancient beliefs of these
men, we found a religion which had their dead ancestors
for its object, and for its principal symbol the sacred fire.
It was this religion that founded the family and estab-
lished the first laws. But this race has also had in all
its branches another religion — the one whose piincipal
figures were Zeus, Here, Athene, Juno, that of the
Hellenic Olympus, and of the Roman Capitol.
Of these two reUgions, the first found its gods in
the human soul ; the second took them from physical
nature. As the sentiment of living power, and of con-
science, which he felt in himself, inspired man with the
first idea of the divine, so the view of this immensity,
which surrounded and overwhelmed him, traced out for
iis religious sentiment another course.
Man, in the early ages, was continually in the pres-,
ence of nature ; the habits of icivilized life did not yet
draw a line between it and him. His sight was charmed
by its beauties, or dazzled by its grandeur. He en-
joyed the light, he was tenified by the night ; and when
he saw the " holy light of heaven " return, he experi-
enced a feeling of thankfuLoess. His life was in the
hands of nature; he looked for the beneficent cloud on
whitsh his iai-vest dependjed ; he feaued the storm which
160 THE CITY. BOOK III.
might destroy the labor and hope of all the year. At
every moment he felt his own feebleness and the
incomparable power of what surrounded him. He ex-
perienced perpetually a mingled feeling of veneration,
love, and terror for this power of nature.
This sentiment did not conduct him at once to the
conception of an only God i-uling the universe; for as
yet he had no idea of the universe. He knew not thnt
the earth, the sun, and the stars are parts of one same
body; the thought did not occur to him that they
might all be ruled by the same being. On first looking
upon the external world, man pictured it to liimself as
a sort of confused republic, where rival forces made
war upon each other. As he judged external objects
from himself, and felt in himself a free person, he saw
also in every part of creation, in the soil, in the tree, in
the cloud, in the water of the river, in the sun, so many
persons like himself. He endued them with thought,
volition, and choice of acts. As he thought them pow-
erful, and was subject to their empire, he avowed his
dependence; he invoked'them, and adored them; he
made gods of them.
Thus in this race the religious idea presented itself
under two different forms. On the one hand, man
attached the divine attribute to the invisible principle,
to the intelligence, to what he perceived of the soul, to
what of the sacred he felt in himself. On the other
hand, he applied his ideas of the divine to the external
object which he saw, which he loved or feared; to
physical agents that were the masters of his happiness
and of his life.
These two orders of belief laid the foundation of two
religions that lasted as long as Greek and Roman
society. They did not make war upon each other;
CHAP. n. SEW EELIGIOUS BELIEFS. 161
they even lived on very good terms, and shared the
empire over man ; but they never became confounded.
Their dogmas were always entirely distmct, often con-
tradictory; and their ceremonies and practices were
absolutely different. The worship of the gods of Olym-
pus and that of heroes and manes never had anything
common between them. Which of these two religions
was the earlier in date no one can tell. It is certain,
however,that one — that of the dead — having been fixed
at a very early epoch, always remained unchangeable
in its practices, while its dogmas faded away little by
little ; the other — that of physical nature — was more
progressive, and developed freely from age to age, mod-
ifying its legends and doctrines by degrees, and con-
tinually augmenting its authority over men.
2. Melation of this Mdigion to the Development
of Human Society,
We can easily believe that the first rudiments of this
religion of nature are very ancient, though not so old,
perhaps, as the worship of ancestors. But as it corre-
sponded with more general and higher conceptions, it
required more time to become fixed into a precise doc-
ti-ine." It is quite certain that it was not brought into
the world in a day, and that it did not spring in full
perfection from the brain of man. We find at the
' Need we recall all the Greek and Italian traditions that
showed the religion of Jupiter to be a young and relatively re-
cent religion? Greece and Italy had preserved the recollection
of a time when social organizations already existed, and when
this religion was not yet known. Ovid, Fast., II. 2fi9 ; Virg.,
Oeorg., I. 126. ^sch., Eumen. Pausanias, VIII. 8. It
appears that among the Hindus the IHtris were anterior to the
Devas.
11
162 THE CITY. BOOK HI.
origin of this religion neither a prophet nor a body of
iDriests. It grew up in different rainds by an eifort of
their natural powers. Each man created it for himself
m his own fashion. Among all these gods, sprung from
different minds, there were resemblances, because ideas
were formed in the minds of men after a nearly uni-
form manner. But there was also a great variety,
because each mind was the anthor of its own gods.
Hence it was that for a long time this religion was con-
fused, and that its gods were innumerable.
Still the elements which could be deified were not
very numerous. The sun which gives fecundity, the
earth v;hich nourishes, the clouds, by turns beneficent
and destructive — such were the diflferent powers of
which they could make gods. But from each one of these
elements thousands of gods were created ; because the
same physical agent, viewed under different aspects,
received from men different names. The sun, for ex-
ample, was called in one place Hercules (the glorious) ;
in another, Phoebus (the shining) ; and still again Apollo
(he who drives away night or evil) ; one called him
Hyperion (the elevated Being) ; another, Alexicacos
(the beneficent) ; and in the course of time groups of
men, who had given these various names to the brilliant
luminary, no longer saw that they had the same god.
Indeed, each man adored but a very small number
of divinities ; but the gods df one were not those of
another. The names, it is true, might resemble each
other ; many men might separately have given their god
the name of Apollo, or of Hercules ; these words belonged
to the common language, and were merely adjectives,,
and designated the divine Being by one or another of
his most prominent attributes. But under this same
name the different groups of men could not believe that
CHAP. n. NE-W EELIGIO^S BELIEFS. 163
there was but one god. They counted thousands of
different Jupiters ; they had a multitude of Minervas,
Dianas, and Junos, who resembled each other very lit-
tle. Each of these conceptions was formed by the free
operation of each mind, and being in some soj-t its
property, it happened that these gods were for a long
time independent of ;each other, and that each one of
them had his particular legend and his worship.'
As the first appearance of these beliefs was at a time
when men still lived under family government, these
new gods had at first, like the demons, the heroes, and
the Lares, the character of domestic divinities. Each
family made gpds for itself, and each kept them for
itself, as protectors, whose good ofBces it did not wish
to share with strangers. This thought appears fre-
quently in the hymns of theVedas; and there is no
doubt that it was the same in the minds of the Aryas
of the West; for there are visible traces of it in their
religion. As soon as a family, by perspnifyipg a phys-
ical agent, had created, a god, it associated Ijim with its
saored fire, counted him among itsPen^tes,.and added a
few words for him in its formula of prayer. This ex^
plains why we ojften meet among the ancients with
expressions like this : The gods who sitnear my hearth ;
the Jupiter of my hearth ; the, Apollo ' of my fathers.'
"I conjure you," said Tecmessa to Ajax, "in the name
' The same name often conceals very different divinities. Po-
seidon Hippius, Poseiapn phytalraius, tlje Erechtbean Poseidon,
ihe ^gean Poseidon, the Heliconian Poseidon, were different
gods, who had neither the same attributes nor the same worship-
pers.
* ^Eariovj^oi, ItpicTioi, TraTQwoi, 'O i,((os Zsijs, Eurip., JTecu-
ba, 345 : Medea, 395. Sophocles, Ajax, 492. Virgil, VIII.
643. Herodotus, I.,44.
164 THE CITY. BOOK HI.
of the Jupiter who Bits near your hearth." Medea, the
enchantress, says, in Euripides, "I swear by Hecate,
my protecting goddess, whom I venerate, and who in-
habits this sanctuary of ray hearth." When Virgil
describes what is oldest in the religion of Rome, he
shows Hercules associated with the sacred fire of Evan-
der, and adored by him as a domestic divinity.
Hence came those thousands of forms of local wor-
ship among which no nnity could ever be established.
Hence those contests of the gods of which polytheism
is full, and which represent struggles of families, can-
tons, or villages. Hence, too, that innumerable multi-
tude of gods and goddesses of whom assuredly we know
but the smallest part; for many have perished without
even having left their names, simply because the fami-
lies who adored them became extinct, or the cities that
had adopted them were destroyed.
It must have been a long time before these gods left
the bosom of the families with whom they had origi-
nated and who I'egarded them as their patrimony. We
know even that many of them never became disengaged
from this sort of domestic tie. The Demeter of Elen-
sis remained the special divinity of the family of the
Eumolpidas. The Athene of the Acropolis of Athens
belonged to the family of the Butadae. The Potitii of
Rome had a Hercules, and the Nautii a Minerva.' It
appears highly probable that the worship of Venus was
for a long time limited to the family of the Julii, and
that this goddess had no public worship at Rome.
It happened, in the conree of timej the divinity of a
family having acquired a great prestige over the imagi-
nations of men, and appearing powerful in proportion
' Livy, IX. 29. Dionysius, VI. 69.
CHAV. n. NEW EELIGIOUS BELIEFS. Ifii
to the prosperity of this family, that a whole city wished
to adopt him, and offer him public worship, to obtain
his favors. This was the case with the Demeter of the
Eumolpidse, the Athene of the Butadse,and the Hercu-
les of the Potitii. But when a family consented thus
to share its god, it retained at least the priesthood. We
may remark that the dignity of priest, for each god,
was during a long time hereditaiy, and could not go
out of a certain family.' This is a vestige of a time
when the god himself was the property of this family ;
when he protected it alone, and would be served only
by it.
We are correct, therefore, in saying that this second
religion was at first in unison with the social condition
of men. It was cradled in each family, and remained
long bounded by this narrow horizon. But it lent it-
self more easily than the worship of the dead to the
future progress of human association. Indeed, the an-
cestors, heroes, and manes were gods, who by their
very nature could be adored only by a very small num-
ber of men, and who thus established a perpetualand
impassable line of demarcation between families. The
religion of the gods of nature was more comprehensive.
No rigoroxis laws opposed the propagation of the wor-
ship of any of these gods. There was nothing in their
nature that required them to be adored by one family
only, and to repel the stranger. Finally, men must have
come insensibly to perceive that the Jupiter of one
' Herodotus, V. 64, 65; IX. 27. Pindar, Isthm., VII. 18.
Xenophon, Mell., VI. 8. Plato, Laws, p. 759 ; Banquet, p. 40.
Cicero, De Bivin., I. 41. Tacitus, Ann. II. 54. I'lutarch, The-
seus, 23. Strabo, IX. 421 ; XIV. 634. Callimachus, Ifymn ta
Apollo, 8i. Pausanias, I. 37; VI. 17; X. 1. ApoUodorus, Ilf
\?. Harpooration, v. Evnifai. Boeckh, Corp. Inscript., 134^,
166 THE CITY. BOOK ni.
family was really the same being or the same concep-
tion as the Jupiter of another, which they could never
believe of two Lares, two ancestors, or two sacred
fires.
Let us add, that the morality of this new religion was
different. It was not confined to teaching men family
duties. Jupiter was the god of hospitality ; in his name
came strangers, suppliants, " the venerable poor," those
who were to be treated " as brothers." All these gods
often assumed the human form, and appeared among
mortals ; sometimes, indeed, to assist in their straggles
and to take part in theii combats ; often, also, to enjoin
concord, and to teach thiim to help each other.
As this second religion continued to develop, socie-
ty must have enlarged. Now, it is quite evident that
this religion, feeble at firut, afterwards assumed large
proportions. In the beginiiing it was, so to speak, shel-
tered under the protection of its elder sister^ near the
domestic hearth. Thei'e the god had obtained a small
place, a narrow cella, near aisd opposite to the venerated
altar, in order that a little of the respect which men
had for the sacred fire might be shared by him. Little
by little, the god, gaining more authority over the soul,
renounced this sort of guardianship, and left the domes-
tic hearth. He had a dwelling of his own, and his own
sacrifices. This dwelling (p^uo;, from vuh)^ to inhabit)
was, moreover, built after the fashion of the ancient
sanctuary; it was, as before, & ceUa opposite a hearth;
but the ceUa was enlarged and embellished, and became
a temple. The holy fii-e remained at the entrance of
the god's house, but appeared very small by the side
of this house. What had at first been the principal,
had now become only an accessory. It ceased to be a
god, and descended to the rank of the god's altar, an in-
CHAP. ax. THE CITY FORMED. 167
strument lor the sacrifice. Its office was to bum the
flesh of the victim, and to carry the offering with men's
prayers to the majestic divinity whose statue resided
in the temple.
When we see these temples rise and open their doors
to the multitude of worshippers, we may be assured
that human associations have become enlarged.
CHAPTER III,
The City formed.
The tribe, like the family and the phratry, was es-
tablished as an independent body, since it had a special
worship from which the stranger was excluded. Once
formed, no new family could be admitted to it. No
more could two tribes be fused into one ; their religion
was opposed to this. But just as several phratries were
united in a tribe, several tribes might associate together,
on condition that the religion of each should be resj*ct-
ed. The day on which this alliance took place the city
existed.
It is of little account to seek the cause whish deter-
mined several neighboring tribes to unite. Sometimes'
it was voluntary ; sometimes it was imposed by the
superior force of a tribe, or by the powerful will of a
man. What is certain is, that the bond of the new
association was still a religion. The tribes that united
to form a city never failed to light a sacred fire, and to
adopt a common religion.
Thus human society, in this race, did not enlarge
like a circle, which increases on all sides, gaining little
168 THE CITr. BOOK HI.
by little. There were, on the contrary, small groups,
which, having been long established, were finally joined
together in larger ones. Several families formed the
phratry, several phratries the tribe, several tribes the
city. Family, phratry, tribe, city, were, moreover, soci-
eties exactly similar to each other, which were formed
one after the other by a series of federations.
We must remark, also, that when the different groups
became thus associated, none of them lost its individu-
ality, or its independence. Although several families
were united in a phratry, each one of them remained
constituted just as it had been when separate. Nothing
was changed in it, neither worship nor priesthood, nor
property nor internal justice. Curies afterwards be-
came associated, but each retained its worship, its as-
semblies, its festivals, its chief. From the tribe men
passed to the city; but the tribe was not dissolved on
that account, and each of them continued to form a
bo'ly, very much as if the city had not existed. In
religion there subsisted a multitude of subordinate
worships, above which was established one common to
all; in politics, numerous little governments continued
to act, while above them a common government was
founded.
The city was a confederation. Hence it was obliged,
at lenst for several centuries, to respect the religions and
civil independence of the tribes, curies, and families,
and had not the right, at first, to interfere in the private
affairs ol" each of these little bodies. It had nothing
to do in the interior of a family ; it was not the judge
of what passed there ; it left to the father the right and
duty of jndging his wife, his son, and his clien-t. It is
for this reason that private law, which had been fixed
at the time when families were isolated, could sub-
CHAP. UI. THE CITY FOENED. 169
sist in the city, and was modified only at a very late
period.
The mode of founding ancient cities is attested by
usag'es which continued for a very long time.
If we examine the army of the city in primitive times,
we find it distributed into tribes, curies, and families,*
"in such a way," says one of the ancients, "that the
warrior has for a neighbor in the combat one with
whom, in time of peace, he has offered the libation and
sacrifice at the same altar." If we look at the people
when assembled, in the early ages of Rome, we see
them voting by curies and by gentes^ If we look at
the worship, we see at Rome six Vestals, two for each
tribe. At Athens, the archon offers the sacrifice in the
name of the entire city, but he has in the religious
part of the ceremony as many assistants as there are
tribes.
Thus the city was not an assemblage of individuals;
it was a confederation of several groups, which were
established befoi'e it, and which it pemutted to remain.
We see, in the Athenian orators, that every Athenian
formed a portion of four distinct societies at the same
time; he was a member of a family, of a phratry, of a
tribe, and of a city. He did not enter at the same time
and the same day into all these four, like a Frenchman,
who at the moment of his birth belongs at once to a
family, a commune, a department, and a country. The
phratry and the tribe are not administrative divisions.
A man enters at different times into these four socie-
ties, and ascends, so to speak, from one to the other.
First, the child is admitted into the family by the
» Homer, Iliad, II. 362. Varro, De lAng. hat., V. 89.
Isaeus, II. 42.
» Aulus Gellius, XV. 27.
170 THE CITY. BOOK III.
religious Ceremony, which takes place six days after
his birth. Some years later he enters the phratry by
a, new ceremony, which we have already described.
Finally, at the age of sixteen or eighteen, he is pre-
sented for admission into the city. On that day, in
the presence of an altar, and before the smoking flesh
of a victim, he pronounces an oath, by which he binds
hiraselfj among other things, always to respect the re-
ligion of the city. From that day he is initiated into
the public worship, and becomes a citizen.' If we
observe this young Athenian rising, step by step, from
worship to worship, we have a symbol of the degrees
through which human association has passed. The
course which this young man is constrained to follow,
is that which society first followed.
Ah example will make this truth clearer. There have
remained to us in the antiquities of Athens traditions
and traces enough to enable us to see quite clearly how
the Athenian city was formed. At first, says Plu-
tarch, Attica was divided by families.^ Some of these
families of the primitive period, like the Euraolpidse,
the CeoropidsB, the Gephyrsei, the Phytalidse, and the
LakiadSe, were perpetuated to the following ages. At
that time the city did not exist; but every family,
surrounded by its younger branches and its clients,
occupied a canton, and lived there in absolute inde-
pendence. Each had its own religion ; the Eumo^pidse,
fixed at Eleusis, adored Demeter ; the Cecropid®, who
inhabited the rocks where Athens was afterwards built,
had Psseidon and Athene for protecting divinities.
• Demosthenes, in Eulid. Isaeus, VII. IX. Lycurgus, I.
76. Schol., in Demosth^ p. 438. Pollux, VIII. 105. Stob^us,
De Repub.
' Kara yirri, Plutarch, Theseus, 24, 13.
CHAP. m. THE CITT FORMED. 171
Near by, on the little hill of the Areopagus, the pro-
tecting god was Ares. At Marathon it was Hercules ;
at Prasias an Apollo, another Apollo at Phlius, the Dios-
curi at Cephalusi, and thus of all the other cantons.'
Every family, as it had its god and its altar, h-ad also
its chief. When Pausanias visited Attica, he found
in the little villages ancient traditions which had been
perpetuated with the worship ; and these traditions
informed him that every little burgh had had its king
before the time when Cecrops reigned at Athens. Was
not this a memorial of a distant age, when the great
patriarchal families, like the Celtic clans, had each
its hereditary chief, who was at the same time priest
atd judge? Some hundred little societies then lived
isolatfed in the country, recognizing no political or re-
ligious bond among them, having each its territory,
often at war, and living so completely separated that
marriage between them was not always permitted.'
But their needs or their sentiments brought them
together. Insensibly they joined in little groups of
four, five, or six. Thus we find in the traditions that
the four villages of Marathon united to adore the same
Delphian Apollo ; the men of the Piraeus, Phalerura,
and two neighboring burghs, united and built a temple
to Hercules.' In the course of time these many little
states were reduced to twelve confederations. This
change, by which the people passed from the patriarchal
family state to a society somewhat more extensive, was
attributed by tradition to the efibrts of Cecrops: we
are merely to understand by this, that it was not ac-
■ Pausanias, I. 15 ; 31, 37, II. 18.
' Plutarch, Theseus, 13.
' Id., ibid., 14. Pollux, VI. 106. Stephen of Byzantium,
172 THE CITT. BOOK III.
complished until the time at which they place this per-
sonage— that is to say, towards the sixteenth century
before our era. We see, moreover, that this Cecrops
reigned over only one of these twelve associations, that
which afterwards became Athens; the other eleven
were completely independent; each had its tutelary
deity, its altar, its sacred fire, and its chief.'
Several centuries passed, during which the Cecrop-
idse insensibly acquired greater importance. Of this
period there remains the tradition of a bloody struggle
sustained by them against the Eumolpidae of Eleusis,
the result of which was, that the latter submitted, with
the single reservation that they should preserve the
hereditary priesthood of their divinity.* There were
doubtless othei struggles and other conquests, of which
no memorial has been preserved. The rock of the
Cecropidse, on which was developed, by degrees, the
worship of Athene, and which finally adopted the name
of their principal divinity, acquired the supremacy over
the other eleven states. Then appeared Theseus, the
heir of the Cecropidae. All the traditions agree in
declaring that he united the twelve groups into one
city. He succeeded, indeed, in bringing all Attica to
adopt the worship of Athene Polias, so that thenceforth
the whole country celebrated the sacrifice of the Pa-
nathenaea in common. Before him, every burgh had its
sacred fire and its prytany. He wished to make the
prytany of Athens the religious centre of all Attica.'
From that time Athenian unity was established. In
' Philochorus, quoted by Strabo, IX. Thucydides, II. 16.
Pollux, VIII. 111.
' Faueanias, I. 3S.
' Thucydides, II. 15. Plutarch, Theseus, 24. Fausanias, I.
26; VIII. 2.
CHAP. III. THE CITT FOBMED. 173
religion every canton preserved its ancient worship,
but adopted one that was common to all. Politically,
each preserved its chiefs, its judges, its right of assem-
bling ; but above all these local governments, there was
the central government of the city.'
From these precise memorials and traditions, which
Athens preserved so religiously, there seem to us to be
two truths equally manifest : the one is, that the city
was a confederation of groups that had been established
before it; and the other is, that society developed only /
' According to Plutarch and Thucydides, Theseus destroyed
the local prytanies, and abolished the magistracies of the burghs.
If he attempted this, he certainly did not succeed: for a long
while after him we still find the local worships, the assemblies,
and the kings of tribes. Boeckh, Corp. Inscrip., 82, 85. De-
mosthenes, in Theocrinem. Pollux, VIII. 111. We put aside
the legend of Ion, to which several modern historians seem to us
to have given too much importance, by presenting it as an indi-
cation of a foreign invasion of Attica. This invasion is indicated
by no tradition. If Attica had been conquered by these lonians
of the Peloponnesus, it is not probable that the Athenians would
have so religiously preserved their names of Cecropidse, and
Brechtbeidae, and that they would have been ashamed of the
name of lonians. (Hdts, I. 143.) We can also reply to those
who believe in this invasion, and that the nobility of the Eupa-
trids is due to it, that most of the great families of Athens go
back to a date much earlier than that given for the arrival of Ion
in Attica. The Athenians certainly belong to the Ionic branch
of the Hellenic race. Strabo tells us that, in the earliest times,
Attica was called Ionia and las. But it is a mistake to make
the son of Xuthus, the legendary hero of Euripides, the parent
stock of these lonians ; they are long anterior to Ion, and their
name is perhaps much more ancient than that of Hellenes. It
is wrong to make all the Eupatrids descendants of this Ion, and
to present this diss of men as conquerors who oppressed a
conquered people. There is no ancient testimony to support
this opinion.
■lA'-
174 THE CITT. BOOK lit,
80 fast as religion enlarged its sphere. We cannot,
indeed, say that religions progress brought social prog-
ress ; but what is certain is, that they were both pro-
duced at the same time, and in remarkable accord.
We should not lose sight of the excessive difficulty
which, in primitive times, opposed the foundation of
regular societies. The social tie was not easy to es-
tablish between those human beings who were so
diverse, so free, so inconstant. To bring them under
the rules of a community, to institute commandments
and insure obedience, to cause passion to give way to
reason, and individual right: to public right, there cer-
tainly was something necessary, stronger than material
force, more respectable than interest, surer than a
philosophical theory, more unchangeable than a con-
vention; something that should dwell equally in all
hearts, and should be allrpowerful there.
This power was a belief. Nothing has more power
over the soul. A belief is the work of our mind, but
we are not on that account free to modify it at will.
It is our own creation, but we do not know it. It is
human, and we believe it a god. It is the effect of our
power, and is stronger than we are. It is in us; it
does not quit us: it speaks to us at every moment.
If it tells us to obey, we obey ; if it traces duties for us,
we submit. Man may, indeed, subdue nature, but he
is subdued by his. own thoughts.
Now, an ancient belief commanded a man to honor his
ancestor; the worship of the ancestor grouped a family
around an altar. Thus arose the first religion, the first
prayers, the first ideas of duty, and of morals. Thus,
too, was the right of property established, and the order
of succession fixed. Thus, in fine, arose all private law,
and all the rules of domestic organization. Later the
CHAP. III. THE CITT FOBMED. 175
belief grew, and human society grew af the same time.
When men begin to perceive that there are common
divinities for them, they unite in larger groups. The
same rules, invented and established for the family,
are applied successively to the phratry, the tribe, and
the city.
Let us take in at a glance the road over which man
has passed. In the beginning the family lived isolated,
and man knew only the domestic gods — deal nm^iSai,
dii gentiles. Above the family was formed the phra-
try with its god — deo; cpgdrgtog, Juno curialis. Then
came the tribe, and the god of the tribe — 6e6s tpihos.
Finally came the city, and men conceived a god whose
providence embraced .this entire dAy—r.deb? nokmis,pe-
nates publici; a hierarchy of creeds, and a hierarchy
of association. The religious idea was,, among the
ancients, the inspiring breath and organizer of society.
The ti-aditions of the Hindus,cof the Greeks, and of
the Etruscans, relate that the gods, revealed social laws
to man. Under this legendary form there is . a truth.
Social laws were the work of the gods.; bat those gods,
so powerful and benefixjent, were nothing else than the
beliefs of men.
Such was the origin of cities among the ; ancients.
This study was necessary to Lgive us a. correct idea of
the nature and institutions of the city. , B.ut here we
must make a reservation. If the first cities were formed
of a confederation of. little, societies previously estab-
lished, this is not saying that all the cities known to us
were formed in the same manner. The municipal organ-
ization once discovered, it was not necessary for each
new city to pass over the same long and difficult route.
It might often happen that they followed the inverse
order. When a chief, quitting a city already organized.
176 THE CITY. BOOK III.
went to found another, he took with him commonly
only a small number of his fellow-citizens. He associ-
ated with them a multitude of other men who came
from different parts, and might even belong to different
races. But this chief never failed to organize the new
state after the model of the one he had just quitted.
Consequently he divided his people into tribes and
phratries. Each of these little associations had an altar,
sacrifices, and festivals; each even invented an ancient
hero, whom it honored with its worehip, and fi-om
whom, with the lapse of time, it believed itself to have
been descended.
It often happened, too, that the men of some country
lived without laws and without order, either because
no one had ever been able to establish a social organiza-
tion there, as in Ai'cadia, or because it had been cor-
rupted and dissolved by too rapid revolutions, as at
Cyrene and Thnrii. If a legislator undertook to estab-
lish order among these men, he never failed to com-
mence by dividing them into tribes and phratries, as if
this were the only type of society. In each of these
organizations he named an eponymous hero, established
sacrifices, and inaugurated traditions. This was always
the manner of commencing, if he wished to found a
regular society.' Thus Plato did when he imagined
a model city.
' Herodotus, IV. 161. Cf. Plato, Lavss, V. 738; VI. 771.
CHAP. IT. THE CITT. 177
CHAPTER IV.
The City.
CiviTAS, and Uebs, either of which we translate by
the word city., were not synonymous words among the
ancients. Givitas was the religious and political associ-
ation of families and tribes ; Urhs was the place of
assembly, the dwelling-place, and, above all, the sanc-
tuary of this association.
We are not to picture ancient cities to oursejlves as
anything like what we see in our day. We build a
few houses ; it is a village. Insensibly the number of
houses increases, and it becomes a city, and finally, if
there is occasion for it, we surround this with a wall.
With the ' ancients, a city was never formed by de-
grees, by the slow increase of the number of men and {t,
houses. They founded a city at once, all entire in a
day ; but the elements of the city needed to be first
ready, and this was the most difficult, and ordinarily the
largest work. As soon as the families, the phratries,
and the tribes had agreed to unite and have the same
worship, they immediately founded the city as a sanc-
tuary for this common worship, and thus the foundation
of a city was always a religious act.
As a first example, we will take Rome itself, not-
withstanding the doubt that is attached to its early
history. It has often been said that Romulus was chief
of a band of adventurers, and that he formed a people
by calling around liim vagabonds and robbers, and that
all these men, collected without disiinctioii, built at
hazard a few huts to shelter their booty; but ancient
12
178 THE CITT. BOOK ni.
writers present the facts in quite another shape, and it
seems to us that if we desire to understand antiquity,
our first rule should be to support ourselves upon the
evidence that comes from the ancients. Those writers
do, indeed, mention an asylum — that is to say, a saci-ed
enclosure, where Romulus admitted all who presented
themselves ; and in this he followed the example which
many founders of cities had afforded him. But this
asylum was not the city ; it was not even opened till
after the city had been founded and completely built.
It was an appendage added to Rome, but was not
Rome. It did not even form a part of the city of
Romulus ; for it was situated at the foot of the Capi-
toline hill, whilst the city occupied the Palatine. It is
of the first importance to distinguish the double ele-
ment of the Roman population. In the asylum are
adventurers without land or religion ; on the Palatine
are men from Alba — that is to say, men already
organized into a society, distributed into gentes and
curies, having a domestic worship and laws. The asy-
lum is merely a hamlet or suburb, where the huts are
built at hazard, and without rule ; on the Palatine rises
a city, religions and holy.
As to the manner in which this city was founded,
antiquity abounds in information; we find it in Dio-
nysius of Halicarnassus, who collected it from authore
older than his time; we find it in Plutarch, in the
Fasti of Ovid, in Tacitus, in Cato the Elder, who had
consulted the ancient annals ; and in two other writers
who ought above all to inspire us with great con-
fidence, the learned Varro and the learned Verrius
Flaccus, whom Festus has presei-ved in pai-t for us,
both men deeply versed in Roman antiquities, lovers
oi truth, in no wise credulous, and well acquainted with
CHAP. IT. THE CITY. 179
the rules of histdiical criticism. All the^-ie writers
have transmitted to us the tradition of the religious
ceremony which marked the foundation of Rome, and
we are not prepared to reject so great a number of
witnesses.
It is not a rare thing for the ancients to relate facts
that surprise us; but is this a reason why we should
pronounce them fables ? above all, if these facts, though
not in accord with modern ideas, agree perfectly with
those of the ancients ? We have seen in their private
life a religion which regulated all their acts ; later, we
saw that this religion established them in communities :
why does it astonish us, after this, that the foundation
of a city was a sacred act, and that Romulus himself
was obliged to perform rites which were observed
everywhere? The first care of the founder was to
choose the site for the new city. But this choice — »
weighty question, on which they believed the destiny
of the people depended — was always left to the decis-
ion of the gods. If Romulus had been a Greek, he
would have consulted the oracle of Delphi; if a Sam-
nite, he would have' followed the sacred animal — the
-wolf, or the green woodpecker. Being a Latin, and a
neighbor of the Etruscans, initiated into the augurial
science," he asks the gods to reveal their will to him
by the flight of birds. The gods point out the Pal-
atine.
The day for the foundation having arrived, he first
ofiers a sacrifice. His companions are ranged around
him ; they light a fire of brushwood, and each one leaps
through the flame.' The explanation of this rite is,
Cicero, De Divin., I. 17. Plutarch. CamiUus, 32. Pliny,
XIV. 2; XVIII. 12.
* Dionysius, I. 88.
180 THE CUT. BOOK lH.
that for the act about to take place, it is necessary that
the people be pure; and the ancients believe4 they
could purify themselves from all stain, physical or moral,
by leaping through a sacred flame.
When this preliminary ceremony had prepared the
people for the grand act of the foundation, Romulus
dug a small trench, of a circular form, and threw into it
a clod of earth, which he had brought from the city of
Alba.' Then each of his companions, approaching by
turns, following his example, threw in a little earth,
which he had brought from the country from which he
had come. This rite is remarkable, and reveals to us a
notion of the ancients to which we must call attention.
Before coming to the Palatine, they had lived in Alba,
or some other neighboring city. There was their sacred
fire; there their fathers had lived and been buried.
Now, their religion forbade them to quit the land
where the hearth had been established,. and where their
divine ancestors reposed. It was necessary, then, in
order to be free from all impiety, that each of these
men should employ a fiction, and that he should cany
with him, under the symbol of a clod of earth, the sacred
soil where his ancestors were buried, and to which their,
manes were attached. A man could not quit his dwell-
ing-place without taking with him his soil and his
ancestors. This rite had to be accomplished, so that
he might say, pointing out the new place which he had
adopted. This is still the land qf my fathers, terra par
trum, patria,' here is my countiy, for here are the
manes of my family.
The trench into which each one had thrown a little
earth was called mundus. Now, this word designated in
■ Plutarch, Romulus, 11. Dion Cassius, Fragm., 12. Ovid,
FasH, IV. 821. Festus, v. Quadrata.
CHAP. IV. THE ClTT. 181
the ancient language, the region of the manes." From
this place, according to tradition, the souls of the dead
escaped three times a year, desirous of again Seeing the
light for a moment. Do we not see also, in this tra-
ditioti, the real thought of these ancicint men ? When
placing in the trench a clod of earth from their foimei'
country, thoy believed tliey had enclosed there the
souls of their ancestors. These souls, reunited there,
required a perpetual worship, and kept guard over their
descendants. At this same place Romulus set up an
altar, and lighted a fire upon it. This was the holy
flre of the city."
Arouiid this hearth arose the city, as the house rise^
around the domestic hearth ; Romulus traced a furrow
which marked the enclosure. Here, too, the smallest
details were fixed by a ritual. The founder made use
of a copper ploughshare; his plough was drawn by a
white bull and a white cow. Romulus, With his head
veiled, and in the priestly robes, hiiiiself held tho
handle of the plough and directed it, while chanting
prayers. His companions followed him, observing a
religious silence. As the plough turned up clods of
earth, they carefully threw them within the enclosure,
that no particle of this sacred earth should be on the
side of the stranger.' This enclosurei traced by re-
ligion, was inviolable. Neither stranger nor citizen had
' Festus,. V. Mwndns. Serrius, ad ^n., III. 134. PlutSrcli,
Romulus, 11.
' Ovid, ibid. Later the liearth was removed. When the
three cities, the i'alatine, the Capitoline, and the Quirinal were
united in one, the common hearth, or temple of Vesta, was
placed on neutral ground between the three hills.
' Plutarch, Romulus, 11. Ovid, Ibidem. Varro, De Ling. Lot.,
V. 143. Festus, v. Primigienius \ v. Urvat. Virgil, V. 755.
Ig2 THE CITY. BOOK HI.
the right to cross over it. To leap over this little
furrow was an impious act; it is a Roman tradition
that the founder's brother committed this act of sac-
rilege, and paid for it with his life.'
But, in order that men might enter and leave the
city, the furrow was interrupted in certain places.' To
accomplish this, Romulus raised the plough and carried
it over ; these intervals were called portce ; these were
the gates of the city.
Upon the sacred furrow, or a little inside of it, the
walls afterwards arose ; they also were sacred.' No one
could touch them, even to repair them, without per-
mission from the pontiffs. On both sides of this wall
a space, a few paces wide, was given up to religion, and
was called the pomoeriwm ; " on this space no plough
could be used, no building constructed.
Such, according to a multitude of ancient witnesses,
was the ceremony of the foundation of Rome. If it is
nsked how this information was preserved down to the
writers who have transmitted it to us, the answer is,
that the ceremony was recalled to the memory of the
people every year by an anniversary festival, which
they called the birthday of Rome. This festival was
celebrated through all antiquity, from year to year, and
the Roman people still celebrate it to-day, at the same
date as formerly — the 21st of April. So faithful are
men to old usages through incessant changes.-
We cannot reasonably suppose that such rites were
observed for the first time by Romulus. It is certain,
on the contrary, that many cities, before Rome, had
' See Plutarch, Rom. Quest., 27.
" Cato, in Servius, V. 755.
" Cicero, De Nat. Deor., III. 40. Digest, 8, 8. Gains, II. 8.
• Varro, V. 143. Livy, I. 44. Aulas Gellius, XIII. 14.
CHAP. IV. THE CITY. 183
been founded in the same manner. According to
Varro, these rites were common to Latium and to
Etriuva. Cato the Elder, who, in order to write his
Origines, had consulted the annals of all the Italian
nations, informs us that analogous rites were practised
by all founders of cities. The Etruscans possessed
liturgical books in which were recorded the complete
ritual of these ceremonies.'
The Greeks, like the Italians, believed that the site
of a city should be chosen and revealed by the divinity.
So, when they wished to found one, they consulted the
oracle at Delphi.* Herodotus records, as an act of im-
piety or madness, that the Spartan Dorieus dared to
build a city " without consulting the oracle, and with-
out observing any of the customary usages ; " and the
pious historian is not surprised that a city thus con-
structed in despite of the rules lasted only three years.''
Thucydides, recalling the day when Sparta was founded,'
mentions the pious chants, and the sacrifices of that
day. The same historian tells us that the Athenians
had a particular ritual, and that they never founded a
colony without conforming to it.* We may see in a
comedy of Aristophanes a suflSciently exact picture of
the ceremony practised in stich cases. When the poet
represented the amusing foundation of the city of thu
birds, he certainly had in mind the customs which were
observed in the foundation of the cities of men. Now
ho puts upon the scene a priest who lighted a fire while
invoking the gods, a poet who sang hymns, and a
divine who recited oracles.
' Cato, in Servius, 'V. 765. Varro, L, L., V. 143. . Festus,
V. EUvales.
» DioUorus, XII. 12; Pausanias, VII. 2. Athenaeus, VIII. 02.
=• Herodotus, V. 42. * Thucydides, V. 16; III. 24.
184 THE CITY. BOOK Ht,
Pausatiias travelled in Greece about Adrian's time.
In Messenia he had the priests desci:iibe to lum the
foundation of the city of Messene, and he has trans-
mitted this account to us.' This event was not very-
ancient; it took place in' the time of Epaminondas.
Three centuries before, the Messenians had been driven
from their country, and since that time they had lived
dispersed among the other Greeks, without a country,
but preserving their customs and their national religion
with pious care. The Thebans wished) to restore them
to Peloponnesus^ in order to place an enemy on the
flank of the Spartans ; but the most difficult thing was
to persuade the Messenians. Epaminondas, having
superstitious men to deal with,. thought it his duty to
circulate an oracle predicting for this people a return
to their former country. Miraculous apparitions proved
to them that their gods, who. had betrayed them at
the time of the conquest, had again become favorable.
This timid people then decided to return to the Pelo-
ponnesus in the train of a Theban army. But the
question was, where a city should be built ; for it would
not do to think of re-occupying the old cities of the
countiy : they had been soiled by the conquest. To
choose the place where they should establish them-
selves, they could not have recourae to the Delphian
oracle, for at this time the Pythia was favorable to the
Spartans. Fortunately, the gods had other methods
of revealing their will. A Messeuian priest had a
dream, in which one of the gods of his nation appeared
and directed him to take his station on Mount Ithome,
and invite the people to follow him there. The site of
the new city was thus indicated, but it was still neces-
' Fausanias, IV. 27.
OHAP. IV. THB CITY. 185
Sary to know the rites to be performed at the founda-
tion, for the Messenians had forgotten them. They
could not adopt those of the Thebans, or of any other
people ; and so they did not know how to build the
city. A dream, however, came very opportunely to
another Messenian ; the gods commanded him to ascend
Mount Ithome, and find a yew tree that stood near a
myrtle, and to dig into the earth in that place. He
obeyed, and discovered an urn, and in this urn were
leaves of tin, on which was found engraved the com-
plete ritual of the saci'ed ceremony. The priests
immediately copied it, and inscribed it in their books.
They did not doubt that the urn had been deposited
there by an ancient king of the Messenians, before the
conquest of.the country.
As soon as they were in possessioti of the ritual the
foundation commenced. First, the priests offered a
sacrifice ; they invoked the ancient gods of the Messe-
nians, the Dioscuri), the Jupiter of Ithome, and the
ancient heroes, ancestors known and venerated. All
these protectors of the country had apparently quitted
it, according to the belief of the ancients, on the day
when the enemy became masters of it. They were en-
ti;eated to return. Formulas were pronounced, which,
it was believed, would determine them to inhabit th^
new city in common with the citizens. This was the
great object j to fix the residence of the gods with
themselves was what these men bad the most at heart,
and we may be sure that the religious ceremony had
no other aim. Just as the companions of Romulus
dog a trench and thought to bury the manes of their
ancestors there, so the contemporaries of Epaminondas
called to themselves their heroes, their divine ancestors,
and the gods of their country.. They thought that
186 THE CITY. BOOK IH.
by rites and formulas they could attach these sacred
beings to the soil which they themselves were going to
occupy, and could shut them up within the enclosure
which themselves were about to trace, and they said
to them, "Come with us, O divine kings, and dwell
with us in this city." The fiist day was occupied with
these sacrifices and these prayers. The next day the
boundaries were traced, whilst the people sang religious
hymns.
We are surprised, at first, when we see in the an-
cient authors that there was no city, however ancient
it might be, which did not pretend to know the name
of its founder and the date of its foundation. This is
because a city could not lose the recollection of the
sacred ceremony which Iiad marked its birth. For
every year it celebrated the anniversary of this birth-
day with a sacrifice. Athens, as well as Rome, cele-
brated its birthday.
It often happened that colonists or conquerors estab-
lished themselves in a city already built. They had
not to build houses, for nothing opposed their occupy-
ing those of the vanquished ; but they had to perform
the ceremony of foundation — that is, to establish their
sacred fires, and to fix their national gods in their new
home. This explains the statements of Thucydides and
Herodotus that the Dorians founded Lacediemon, and
the lonians Miletus, though these two tribes found Lace-
dsBmon and Miletus built and already very ancient.
These usages show clearly what a city was in the
opinion of the ancients. Surrounded by a sacred en-
closure, and extending around an altar, it was the reli-
gious abode of gods and citizens. Livy said of Rome,
"There is not a place in this city which is not impreg-
nated with religion, and which is not occupied by some
CHAP. IV. THE CITY. 187
divinity. The gods inhabit it." What Livy said of
Rome any man might say of his own city; for if it had
been founded according to the rites, it had received
within its walls protecting gods who were, as we may
say, implanted in its soil, and could never quit it.
Every city was a sanctuary ; every city might be called
holy.'
As the gods were attached to a city forever, so the
people could never again abandon a place where their
gods were established. In this respect there was a
reciprocal engagement, a sort of contract between gods
and men. At one time tlie tribunes of the people pro-
posed, as Rome, devastated by the Gauls, was no longer
anything but a heap of ruins, and as, five leagues dis-
tant, there was a city all built, large, beautiful, well
situated, and without inhabitants, — since the Romans
had conquered it, — that the people should abandon
the ruins of Rome, and remove to Vcii. But the pious
Camillus i-eplied, "Our city was religiously founded ;
the gods themselves pointed out the place, and took
up their abode here with our fathers. Ruined as it is,
it still remains the dwelling of our national gods."
And the Romans remained at Rome.
Something sacred and divine was naturally associated
with these cities which the gods had founded," and
which they continued to fill with their presence. We
know that Roman traditions promised that Rome
should be eternal. Every city had similar traditions.
The ancients built all their cities to be eternal.
' 'JXiog "qri, fjgai 'A&^iqai (Aristoph., Knights, 1819). Jaxt-
Swuiri ii'ij (Theognis, v. 837) j "tgav niXir, says Theognis, speak-
ing of Megara.
" ^epttinia Troja, StoSfHixoL 'A&iivai. See Tlieognis, 755.
(Weloker.)
188 THE CITY. BOOK ni.
CHAPTER V,
Worship of the Founder. The Legend of ^neas.
The founder .was the man who accomplished the
religious act without which a city could not exist.
He estaWished the hearth where the sacred fire was
eternally to burn. He it was, who, by his prayers and
his rites, called the gods, and fixed them forever in
the new city.
We can understand how' much respect would be felt
for this holy man. During his life men saw in him the
author of a religion and the father of a city ; after death
he became a common ancestor for all the generations
that succeeded him. He was for the city what the
first ancestor was for the family ^^ a Laf famiUaris.
His memory was- perpetuated like the hearth-fire which
he had lighted. Men established a worship for him, and
believed him to be a god ; and the city adored him as
its providence. Sacrifices and festivals were renewed
every year over his tomb.'
It is well known that Romulus was worshipped, and
that he had a temple and priests. The senators might,
indeed, take his life; but they could not deprive him
of the worship to which he had a right as the founder'
of a city. In the same manner every city worshipped
the one who had founded' it. Ceei'ops and Theseus,
who were regarded as having been successive founders
of Athens, had temples there. Abdera offered sao-
' Pindar, P2/«?i., V. 129. OZymi.., VII. 145. Cicerb, 7)e iVof.
Beor., III. 19. Catullus, VII. 6.
CHAP. V. WORSHIP OF THE FOUNlJEE. 189
rifices to its founder, Tiinesius, Thera to Theras, Tene-
dos to Tenes, Delps to Anius, Cyrene to Battus, Miletus
to Naleus, AtBphipolis to Haguon. In the time of
I'isistratvis, one Miltiades went to found a colony in the
Thraeian Ohersonesus ; this colony instituted a worship
for him after his death, "according to the ordinary
usage." Hiero of Syracuse, having founded the town
of ^tna, enjoyed there, in the course of time, "the
•worship due to founders of cities." '
A city had nothing more at heart than the memory
of its foundation. When Pausanias visited Greece,
ip the second century of our era, every city could tell
him the name of its founder, with his genealogy and
the principal facts of his life. This name and these
facts could not escape the memory, for they were a
part of the religion, and were recalled every year in
the sacred ceremonies.
The memory of a great number of Greek poems has
been preserved, whose subject was the foundation of
a city. Philochorus sang that of Salamis, Ion that of
Chios, Crito that of Syracuse, Zopyrus that of Miletus;
and Apollonins, Hermogenes, Hellanicns, and Diooles
composed poems or histories on the same subject.
There was not, perhaps, a single city that had not its
poem, or at least its hymn, on the sacred act that had
given it birth.
Among all these ancient poems which had the sacred
foundation of a city for their theme, there is one that
has not been allowed to perish, because its subject ren-
dered it dear to a city, apd its beauties have rendered
' Herodotus, I. 168; VI. 38. Pindar, Pj^iA., IV. Thucyd-
ifles, V. 11. Strsbo, XIV. 1. ¥l\i.t3,Tcl\, Qt-. Quest., 20. Pau-
sfoam,!. 3i; HI. 1. Piodorus, XJ. 78.
190 THE CITY. BOOK III.
it precious to all nations and all ages. We know that
^neas founded Lavinium, whence sprang the Albans
and the Romans, and that, consequently, he was re-
garded as the first founder of Rome. There had been
clustei'ed about him a multitude of traditions, which
we find already recorded in the verses of old Naevius,
and in the histories of Cato the Elder, when Virgil
seized upon this subject and wrote the national poem
of the Roman city.
The arrival of jEneas, or rather the removal of the
gods of Troy into Italy, is the subject of the .^neid.
The poem sings this man, who traversed the seas to
found a city and transport his gods to Latium : —
" Dum conderet urbem
Inferretque Deos Latio."
We must not judge the ^neid after our modern ideas.
Men often complain at not finding in ^neas bravery,
dash, passion. They tire of that epithet of pious which
is continually repeated. They are astonished to see
this warrior consulting his Penates with a care so scru-
pulous, invoking some divinity at every new turn of
affairs, raising his arms to heaven when he ought to be
fighting, allowing himself to be tossed over all seas by
the oracles, and shedding tears at the sight of danger.
Nor do they fail to reproach him with coldness to-
wards Dido; and they are tempted to say, with the
unhappy queen, —
" Nullis ille movetur
JFletibus, aut voces uUas tractabilis audit."
But this is because there is no place here for a
warrior, or a hero of romance. The poet wishes to
represent a priest, ^neas is the chief of a worship, a
CHAP. V. THE LEGEND OF ^NBAS. 191
holy man, the divine founder, whose mission is to save
the Penates of the city.
" Sum pius ^neas, raptos qui ex lioste Penates
Classe veho mecum."
His dominant quality ought to he piety, and the
epithet which the poet oftenest applies to him is that
which hecomes him best. His virtue ought to be a
cold and lofty impersonality, making of him, not a man,
but an instrument of the gods. Why should we look
for passion in him ? He has no right to the passions ;
or, at any rate, he should confine them in the depths
of his heart.
" Multa gemens multoque animum labefactus amore,
Jussa tamen Divum insequitur."
Already, in Homer, ^neas was a holy personage, a
high priest, whom the people venerated as a god, and
whom Jupiter preferred to Hector. In Virgil he is
the guardian and savior of the Trojan gods. During
the night that completed the ruiu of the city. Hector
appeared to him in a dream, and said to him, " Troy
confides its gods to thee ; search out a new city for
them." At the same time he committed to him the
sacred things, the protecting statues, and the sacred fire
that was never to be extinguished. This dream is not
simply an ornament placed there by the fancy of the
poet. It is, on the contrary, the foundation on which
the entire poem rests ; for it is through this that ^neas
becomes the depositary of the city gods, and that his
holy mission is revealed to him.
The urhs of the Trojans, the material part of Troy, has
perished, but not the Trojan civitas ; thanks to -lEneas,
the sacred fire is not extinguished, and the gods
have still a worship. The city and the gods are with
192 THE CITY. BOOK m.
^neas; they cross the seas, and seek a country where
^ it is permitted them to stop.
" Considere Teucros
Errantesque Deos agitataque numina Trojae."
^neas seeks a fixed home, small though it be, for
his paternal gods, —
' Dis sedem exiguam patriis."
JBut the choice of this home, to which the destiny of
the city shall be forever bound, does not depend upon
men ; it belongs to the gods. .^Eneas consults the priest
and interrogates the oracles. He does not himself
determine his route or his object; he is directed by
the divinity: —
" Italiam non sponte sequor."
He would have staid in Thrace, in Crete, in Sicily,
at Carthage with Dido : F^ia obstant. Between liim
and his desire of rest, between liim and his love,
there always comes the will of the gods, the revealed
word — fata.
We must not deceive ourselves in this: the real
hero of the poem is not ^neas; the gods of Troy
take the place of a hero ; the same gods that, one day,
are to be those of Rome. The subject of the ^neid
is the struggle of the Roman gods against a hostile
divinity. Obstacles of every kind are placed in their
way.
" Tantse molis erat Bomanam condere gentem ! '
The tempest conies near ingulfing them, the love of
a woman almost enslaves them ; but they triumph over
everything, and arrive at the object sought.
" Fata yiam inveniunt."
CHAP. VI. THE GODS OF THE CITY. 19S
Things like these would interest the Romans to a
wonderful degree. In this poem they saw themselves,
their founder, their city, their institutions, their religion,
their empire. For without those gods the Roman city
would not have existed.'
CHAPTER VI.
The Gods of the City
We must not lose sight of the fact that, among the
ancients, what formed the bond of every society was a
worship. Just as a domestic altar held this members of
a family grouped around it, so the city was the collec-
tive group of those who had the same protecting
deities, and who performed the religious ceremony at
the same altar.
TMs city altar was enclosed within a building which
the Greeks called prytaneum, and which the Romans
Dalled temple of Vesta.'
' We need not inquire here if the legend of Xneas repre-
sents a real fact^ thatit was believed is enough for us. It shows
as how the ancients looked upon the founder of a city, what idea
Jhey had of a, penatigcr ; and for us this is the important point.
We may add, that several cities in Thrace, in Crete, in Epirus,
at Cjthera, at Zacynthus, in Sicily, and in Italy looked upon
MaQSA as their founder, and worshipped him as such.-
' The prytaneum contained the common hearth of the city :
Dion of Halioarnasssus, II. 23. Pollux, I. 7. Soholiastof Tindar,
Nem., XI. Scholiast of Thucydides, II. 15. There was a pryta-
neum in every Greek city : Herodotus, III. 57 ; V. C7 ; VII.
197. Polyb., XXIX. 5. A\)^\s,-a, Miihridatic War,2Z; Punic
War, 84. Diodorus, XX. 101. Cicero, De Signis, 513. Dio-
13
194 THE CITY. BOOK III.
• There was nothing more eacved within the city than
this altar, on which the sacred fii'e was always main-
tained.
This great veneration, it is trne, became weakened
in Greece, at a very early date, because the Greek im-
agination allowed itself to be turned aside by more
splendid temples, richer legends, and more beautiful
statues. But it never became enfeebled at Rome.
The Romans never abandoned the conviction that the
destiny of the city was connected with this fire which
represented their gods. The respect which they had
for their vestals proves the importance of their priest-
hood. If a consul met one of them, he ordered his
fasces to be lowered before her. On the other hand,
if one of them allowed the fire to go out, or sullied the
worship by failing in her duty of chastity, the city, which
then believed itself threatened with the loss of its gods,
took vengeance upon iier by burying her alive.
One day the temple of Vesta came near being burned
in a conflagration of the surrounding houses. Rome
was in consternation, for it felt all its future to be in
peril. When the danger had passed, the senate in-
structed the consul to search out the authors of the
fire, and the consul made accusations against several
inhabitants of Capua, who happened at that time to be
in Rome. This was not because lie had any proof
against them, but he reasoned in this manner: "A
conflagration has threatened the heartli of our city;
this conflagration, which might have destroyed our
nysius, II. 65. Pausanias, I. 42 ; V. 25 ; VIII. 9. Athenaeus, I.
58; X. 24. Boeckh, Corp. Inscr., 1193. At Eome the temple
of Vesta was nothing more than a hearth. Cicero, De Legib.,
II. 8; II. 12. Ovid, Fasi., VI. 297. Florus, I. 2. Livy,
XXVllI. 31.
CHAP. VI, thj: gods of the city. 15)5
grandeur and stopped our progress, could have been-
started only by the hands of our most cruel enemies.
Now, we have no more determined enemies than the
inhabitanta of Capun, this city whicih is now the ally of
Hannibal, and which aspires to take our place as the
capital of Italy. These, therefore, are the men who
have attempted to destroy our temple of Vesta, our
eternal fire, this gage and guarantee of our future
grandeur." ' Thus a consul, under the influence of his
religious ideas, believed that the enemies of Rome could
find no surer means of conquering it than by destroying
its sacred hearth. Here we see the belief of the an-
cients; the public fire was the sanctuary of the city,
the cause of its being, and its constant preserver.
Just as the worship of the domestic hearth was secret,
and the family alone had the right to take part in it,
so the wbrship of the public fire was concealed from
strangers. No one, unless he were a citizen, could take
part at a sacrifice. Even the look of a stranger sullied
the religious act.'
>'''"~tevery city had gods who belonged to it alono.
/ These gods were generally of the same nature as those ''''
f of the primitive religion of families. They were called
Lares, Penates, Genii, Demons, Heroes r» under all
these names were human souls deified. For we have
seen that, in the Indo-European race, man had at first
worshipped the invisible and immortal power which he
felt in himself. These genii, or heroes, were, more gen-
erally, the ancestors of the people.* },
' Livy, XXVI. 27.
' Virgil, III. 408. Pausanias, V. 15. Appian, Oivil Wwis,
\. 64.
» Ovid, Fast., II. 616.
* Plutarch, Aristides, 11.
196 THE CITY. BOOK m.
The bodies were buried eitier in the city itself or
upon its tei-ritory; and as, according to the belief which
w6 have already described, the soul did not quit the
body, it followed that these divine dfead were attached
to the soil where their bodies were buried. From, their
gi-aves they watched over the city; they protected the
country, and were, in some sort, its chiefs and mastersi
This expression of chiefs of the country, applied' to the
dead, is found in an ol'acle addressed by the Pythia to
Solon : " Honor with a worship the chiefs of the coun-
try, the dead who live under the earth " ' These
notions came from the very great power which the
ancient generations attributed to the human soul after
death. Every man who had rendered a gj-eat service
to the city, from the one -frho had founded it to the one
who had given it a victory, or had improved its laws,
became a god for that dity. It was not even necessary
for one to have been a great man or a benefiictor ; it
was enough to have struck the imagination of his con-
temporaries, and to have rendered himself Uie subject
of a popular tradition, to become a hero — that is to
say, one of the powerful dead, whose pi-ot^tion was to
be desired and whose anger was to be ftsai*d'. The
Thebans continued during ten centuries to offer sac-
rifices to Eteoclies and Polynices. The inhabitants of
Acanthus worshipped a Persian who had died among
them during the expedition of Xer±es. Hippolytus
was venerated as a god at Troezene. Pyfrhus, son of
Achilles, was a god at Delphi only because he died and
was buried there. Crotona worshipped a hero for the
sole reason that during his life he had been the hand-
somest man in the city." Athens adored as one of its
' Plutarch, Solon, 9.
» Pausanias, IX. 18. Herodotus, VII. 117. Diodorus, IV.
CHAP. VI. THE GODS OF THE OITT. 19T
protectors Eurystheus, though he was an Argivc ; but
Euripides explains the origin of this woi'ship when he
brings Eurystlieus upon the stage, about to die, anci
malies him say to the Athenians, "Bnry me in Attioa.
I will be propitious to you, and in the bosom of the
ground I will be for your country a protecting guest."-'
The entire tragedy of (Edijpus CoIchmms rests upon
this belief. Athens and Thebes contend over the body
of a man who is about to die, and who will become -;p»
a god. />W- /^V
It was a great piece of good fortune for a city to
possess the bodies of men of some mark.° Mantinea
spoke with pride of the bones of Areas, Thebes of those
of Geryori, Messene of those of Aristomenes.'" To pro-
cure these preoious relics, ruse was sometimes resorted
to. Herodotus relates by what unfair means the Spai<-
tans carried off the bones of Orestes." These bones,
it is true, to which the soul of a hero was attached,
gave the Spartans a victory immediately. As soon as
Athens had acquired power, the first use she made of
it was to seize upon the bones of Theseus, who had
been buried in the Isle of Scyros, and to build a temple
for them in the city, in order to increase the number of
her protecting deities.
Besides these gods and heroes, men had gods of an-
other species, like Jupiter, Juno, and Minerva, towards
whom the aspect of nature had directed their thoughts ;
but we have seen that these creations of human intelli-
62. Pausanias, X. 23. Pindar, Nem., 65. Herodotus, V.
47.
> Eiirip., Beracl. 1032.
» Pausanioe, I. 43. Polyb., VIII.30. Plantus,2'»'m., 11. 2, 14.
^ Pausanias, IV. 32 ; VIII. 9.
« Herodotus, I. 68.
198 THE CITV, BOOK HI.
gence had for a long time the character of domestic or
local divinities. At first men did not conceive of these
gods as watching over the whole human race. They be-
lieved that each one of them belonged in particular to
a family or a city.
Thus it was customary for each city, without count-
ing its heroes, to have a Jupiter, a Minerva, or some
other divinity which it had associated with its first
Penates and its sacred fire. Thus there were iu Greece
and in Italy a multitude of city-guarding divinities.
Each city had its gods, who lived within its walls.'
The names of many of these divinities are forgotten;
it is by chance that there have remained the names of
the god Satrapes, who belonged to the city of Elis,
of the goddess Dindymene at Thebes, of Soteira at
.iEgium, of Britomartis in Crete, of Hyblsea. at Hybla.
The names of Zeus, Athene, Hera, Jupiter, Minerva,
and Neptune are better k"nown to us, and we know
that they were often applied to these city-guarding
divinities ; but because two cities happened to apply
the same name to their god, we are not to. conclude
that they adored the same god. There was an Athene
at Athens, and there was one at Sparta; but they were
two goddesses. A great number of cities had a Jupi-
ter as a city -protecting divinity. There were as many
Jupiters as there were cities. In the legend of the
Trojan war we see a Pallas who fights for tlie Greeks,
and there, is among the Trojans another Pallas, who
receives their worship and protects her worshippers.'
' Herodotus, V. 82. Sophocles, Phil., 134. Thucyd, II. 71.
Eurip., Electra, G71. Pausanias, I. 24; IV. 8; VIII. 47.
AxHtoilh., Birds, %2&; Knights, 611. VirgU, IX. 246. Polllix,
IX. 40. Apollodorus, III. 14.
» Homer, Iliad, VI. 88.
CHAP. VI. THK GODS OP THE CITY. 199
Would any one say that it was the same divinity who
figured in botli armies ? Certainly not ; for the anciente
did not attribute the gift of ubiquity to their gods.
The cities of Argos and Samoa had each a Here Polias,
but it was not the same goddess, for she was reprt-sented
in the two cities with very different attributes. There
was at Rome a Juno ; at a distance of live leagues, the
city of Veil had another. So little were they the same
divinity that we see the dictator Camillus, while be-
sieging Veii, address himself to the Juno of the enemy,
to induce her to abandon the Etruscan city and pass
into his camp. When he is master of the city, he takes
the statue, well persuaded that he gains possession of
the goddess at the same time, and devoutly transports
it to Rome. From that time Rome had two protect-
ing Junos. There is a similar history, a few years
later, of a Jupiter that another dictator took from Pise-
neste, tliough' at that time Rome already had three or
four of them at home.'
The city which possessed a divinity of its own did
not wish strangers to be protected by it, or to adore it.
More commonly a temple was accessible only to citi-
zens. The Argives alone had the right to enter the
temple of Hera at Argos. To enter that of Athene at
Athens, one had to be an Athenian." The Romans who
adored two Junos at home could not enter the temple
of a third Juno, who was in the little city of Lanu-
vium.'
We should not lose sight of the fact that the an-
cients never represented God to themselves as a unique
being exercising his action upon the universe. Each of
' Llvy, V. 21, 22; VI. 29. « Herodotus, VI. 81; V. 72.
' They acquired this right only by conquest. Livy, VIII. 14.
200 THE CITY. BOOK. III.
their innumerable go3s had his little domain ; to one a
family belcuged, to another a tribe, to a third a eity.
Such was the world which sufficed for the providence
of each of them. As to the god of the human race, a few
philosophers had an idea of him ; the mysteries of
Eleusis might have afforded a glimpse of him to the
most intelligent of the initiated ; but the vulgar never
believed in such a god. For ages man unders.tood the
divine being only as a force which protected him pei'-
sonally, and every man, or every group of men, desired
to have a god. Even to-day, among the descendants
of those Greeks, w« see rude peasaiita pray to th^ saints
with fervor, while it is doubtful if they have the idea
of a god. Each one of them wishes to have, among
these saints, a particular protector, a special providence.
At Naples, each quaater of the city has its Madonna;
the lazzaroni kneel before that of their own street,
while they insult that of the neighboring street: it is
not rare to see two facchini wrangle, and even fight
with knives, in defence of the merits of their respective
Madonnas. These cases are exeeptioms to-day, and are
found only among certain peoples and in certain classes.
They were the rule among th» ancients.
Each city had its corps of priests, who depended
upon no foreign authority. B-etween the priests of
two ei.ies there was no bond, noi communication, no
exchange of instruction or of rites. If one passed from
one city to another, he found other gods, other dogmas*
other ceremonies. The ancients had books of liturgies'
but those of one eity did not resemble those^ of another.
Every eity had its collection of prayers and practices^
which were kept very secret ; it would have thought
itself in danger of compromising its reli^on and its
destiny by opening this collection to strangers. Thus
CHAP. VI. THE GODS OF THE CITY. 201
religion was entirely local, entirely civic, taking tliis
word in the ancient sense — that is to say, speciiil to
each city.*
Generally a man knew only the gods of his own city,
and honored and irespeoted them alone. Each one
could say what, in a tragedy of JEschylus, a stra-ger
said to the Argives — " I fear not the gods of your coun-
try ; I owe them nothing." '
Every city looked to its gods for safety. Men in-
voked them in danger, and thanked them in victory.
Often defeat was attributed to them ; and they were
reproached for having badly fulfilled their duty aa
defendere of the city. Men even went so far, some-
times, as to overturn their altare and stone their
tenxples.*
Ordinarily, these gods took good cai-e of the city
whose worship they received ; and this was quite nat-
ui-al : these gods were eager for offerings, and they
received victims only from their own city. If they
wished the continuation of the sacrifices and heca-
tombs, it was very necessary that they should watch
over the city's safety.* See, in Virgil, how Juno
" strove and labored " that her Carthage might one day
obtain the empire of the world. Each of these gods,
like the Juno of Vii^il, had the grandeur of his city
at heart. These gods had the same interests as the
litizens themselves, and in times of war marched to
battle in the midst of them. In Euripides we see a
personage who says, on the eve of battle, " The gods
' Th.erg existed worships common to several cities only la the»
case of confederations. We shall speak of them elsewhere.
" JLsehylus, Suppl., 858.
' Suetoiius, CaMg., 6; Seneca, De Vita Beata, 36.
* This idea J6 often found among the anoients. Theognis, 759.
202 THE CITY. BOOK UI.
who figbt with us are move powerful tlian those who
are on the side of the enemy." ' The ^ginetans never
commenced a campaign without carrying with thera
the statues of their national heroes, the JEacidte.
The Spartans in all their expeditions carried with them
the Tyndaridse.^ In the combat the gods and the
citizens mutually sustained each other, and if they con-
quered, it was because all had done their duty.
If a city was conquered, the gods were supposed to
have been vanquished with it.' If a city was taken,
its gods themselves were captives.
On this last point, it is true, opinions were uncertain
and diverse. Many were persuaded that a city never
could be taken so long as its gods remained in it.
When .^neas sees the Greeks masters of Troy, he
cries that the gods have departed, deserting their tem-
ples and their altars. In .^Eschylus, the chorus of
Thebahs expresses the same belief when, at the approach
of the enemy, it implores the gods not to abandon
the city."
According to this opinion, in order to take a city
it was necessary to make the gods leave it. For this
purpose the Romans employed a certain formula which
they had in their rituals, and which Macrobius has pre-
served : " O thou great one, who hast this city under
thy protection, I pray thee, I adore thee, I ask of thee
as a favor, to abandon this city and this people, to quit
these temples, these sacred places, and, having sepa-
rated thyself from them, to come to Rome, to me and
mine: May our city, our temples, and our sacred places
be more agreeable and more dear to thee ; take us under
' Euripides, BeracX., 347. » Herodotus, V. 65 ; V. 80.
» Virgil, JEn., I. 68. * ^sch., Sept. Cont- Theb., 202.
CHAP, VI. THE GODS OP THE CITY. 203
thy protection. If thou doest this, I will found a
temple in thine honoi-." ' Now, the ancients were
convinced that there were formulas so efficacious and
powerful, that, if one pronounced them exactly and
without changing a single word, the god could not re-
sist the request of m^n. The god thus called upon
passed over, therefore, to the side of the enemy, and
the city was taken.
In Greece we find the same opinions and similar
customs. Even in the time of Thucydides, when the
Greeks besieged a city, they never failed to address an
invocation to its gods, that they might permit it to be
taken." Of'eu, instead of employing a formula to at-
tract the god, the Greeks preferred to carry off its
statue by stealth. Everybody knows the legend of
Ulysses' cari-ying off the Pallas of the Trojans. At
another time the ^ginetans, wishing to make war upon
Epidaurus, commenced by carrying off two protecting
statues of that city, and transported them to their own
city.^'
Herodotus relates that the Athenians wished to make
war upon the ^ginetans, bat the enterprise was hazard-
ous, for ^gina had a protecting hero of great power and
of singulnr fidelity ; this was ^acus. The Athenians,
after having studied the matter over^ put off the execu-
tion of their design for thirty years; at the same time
they built in their own country a chapel to this same
^acus, and devoted a worship to him. They were
persuaded that if this worship was continued without
interruption during thirty years, the god would belong
no longer to the .lEginetans, but to themselves. In-
deed, it seemed to them that a god could not accei)t
' Macrobius, III. 9. = Thucydides, II. 74.
» Herodotus, V. 83.
204 THE CITT. BOOK III,
fat victims for so long a time without placing himself
under obligations to those who had offered them.
jEacus, therefore, would in the end be forced to aban-
don the interests of the JEginetane, and to give th?
victory to the Athenians.'
Here is another case from Plutarch. Solon desired
that Athens might become mistress of the little Isle of
Salamis, which then belonged to the Megarians. He
consulted the cn-aele. The oracle answered, " If you
wish to conquer the isle, you must first gain the favor
of the heroes who protect it and who inhabit it.''
Solon obeyed ; in the name of Athens he offered sac-
rifices to the two principal heroes of Salamis. These
heroes did not resist the gifts that were offered them,
but went over to the Athenian side, and the isle, de-
prived of protectors, was conquered.*
In time of war, if the besiegers sought to gain pos-
session of the divinities of the city, the besieged, on
their part, did their best to retain them. Sometimes
they bound the god' with chains, to prevent him from
deserting. At other times they concealed him from all
eyes, that the enemy might not find him. Or, still
again, they opposed to the formula by which the enemy
attempted to bribe the god another formula which had
the power to i-etain him. The Romans had imagined
a means which seemed to them to be surer ; they kept
secret the name of the principal and most powei"flil of
their protecting gods." They thought that, as the
enemy could never call this god by his name, he would
never abandon their side, and that their city would
never be taken.
We see by this what a singular idea the ancients had
' Herodotus, V. 89. « Plutarch, Solon, 9.
' M^crobius, III,
CHAP. Til. THE RELIGION OF THE CITY. 205
of the gods. It was a long time before they conceived
the Ditinity as a supreme power. Evefy family had its
domfestic religion, every city had its national feligioti.
A city was like a little church, all complete, which had
its gods, its dogmas, and its worship. These beliefs
appear very crude to us, but they were those of the
most intellectual people of ancient times* afid have ex-
ercised upon this people and upon the Bomaus so im-
portant an influence that the greater part of their
la\?s, of their instLtntious, and of their history is from
this source.
CHAPTER VII.
The Eeligion of the CUy.
1. The Public Repasts.
Wb have already seen that the principal cerettiony
of the domestic worship was a repast, which they called
a sacrifice. To eat food prepared upon an altar was,
to all appearance, the first form which men gave to
the religious act. The need of putting themselves in
communion with the divinity was satisfied by this
repast, to which they invited him, and of which they
gave him his part.
The principal ceremony of the! city worship was also
a repast of this nature ; it was partaken of in common
by all the citizens, in honor of the protecting divinities.
The celebrating of these public repasts was universal
in Greece; and men believed that the safety of the
city depended upon thsir accomplishment.'
' Smri'i^ia Tior noXimi avvieiltva. Atticniseus, V. 2.
206 THE CITY. BOOK lU.
The Odyssey gives us a description of one of these
sacred feasts : Nine long tables are spread for the peo-
ple of Pylos ; at each one of them five hundred citizens
are seated, and each group has immolated nine bulls in
honor of the gods. This repast, which was called the
feast of the gods, begins and ends with libations and
prayers.' The ancient custom of repasts in common is
also mentioned in the oldest Athenian traditions. It
is related that Orestes, the murderer of his mother,
arrived at Athens at the veiy moment when the city,
assembled about its king, was performing the sacred
act."
The public meals of Sparta are well known, but the
idea which men ordinarily entertain of them is very far
from the truth. They imagine the Spartans living and
eating always in common, as if private life had not been
known among them. We know, on the contrary, from
ancient authors, that the Spartans often took their meals
in their own houses, in the midst of their families.^ The
public meals took place twice a month, without reckon-
ing holidays. These were religious acts of the same
nature as those which were practised at Athens, in
Argos, and throughout Greece.''
Besides these immense banquets, where all the citi-
zens were assembled, and which could take place only
on solemn festivals, religion prescribed that every day
' Homer, Odyssey. III. * Athensus, X. 49.
' AthensBus, IV. 17 ; IV. 21. Herodotus, VI. 57. Plutarch,
Gleomenes, 13.
• This custom is attested, for Athens, by Xenophon, Gov.
Aih., 2 ; Schol. on Aristophanes, Clouds, 393 ; — for Crete and
Thessaly, Atiien^us, IV. 22; —for Argos, Boeckh, 1122; — for
other cities, Pindar, iVero., XI.; Theognis, 269; Pausanias, V
15 ; Athenaeus, IV. 32 ; IV. 61 ; X. 24 and 25 ; X. 49 ; XI. 66.
CHAP. Til. THE EELIGIOIT OF THE CITY. 207
there should be a sacred meal. For this purpose, men
chosen by the city, were required to eat together, in
its name, within the enclosure of the prytaneum, in the
presence of the sacred fire and the protecting gods* The
Greeks were convinced that, if this repast was inter-
rupted but for a single day, the state was menaced
with the loss of the favor of its gods.
At Athens, the men who took part in the common
meal were selected by lot, and the law severely pun-
ished those who refused to perform this duty. The
citizens who sat at the sacred table were clothed, for
the time, with a sacerdotal character ; they were called
parasites. This word which, at a later period, became
a term of contempt, was in the beginning a sacred
title.' In the time of Demosthenes the parasites had
disappeared; but the prytanes were still required to
eat together in the prytaneum. In all the cities there
were halls destined for the common meals."
If we observe how matters passed at this meal, we
shall easily recognize the religious ceremony. Every
guest had a crown upon his head ; it was a custom of
the ancients to wear a crown of leaves or flowers when
one performed a solemn religious act. " The more one is
adorned with flowers," they said, " the surer one is of
pleasing the gods ; but if you sacrifice without wearing
a crown, they will turn from you."" "A crown," they
also said, " is a herald of good omen, which prayer sends
before it towards the gods." * For the same reason the
banqueters were clothed in robes of white ; white was
' Plutarch, Solon, 2i. Athenseus, VI. 26.
' Demosthenes, Pro Corona, 63. Aristotle, Politics, VII. 1,
19. Pollux, VIII. 155.
^ fragment of Sappho, in Athenseus, XV. 16.
* Athenseus, XV. 19.
208 THE CITY. BOOK Hli
the sacred color among the ancients, that which pleased
the gods.'
The meal invariably commenced witli a prayer and
libations, and hymns were sung. The natare of the
dishes and the kind of wine that was to be served
were regulated by the rules of each city.
To deviate in the least from the usage followed in
primitive times, to present a new dish or alter the
rhythm of the sacred hymns, was a grave impiety, for
which the whole city was responsible to the gods;
Religion even went so far as to fix the nature of the
vessels that ought to be employed both for the cooking
of the food and for the service of the table. In one city
the bread must be served in copper baskets ; in another
earthen dishes had to be employed. Even the form of
the loaves was immtitably fixed.^ These rules of the
old religion continued to be observed, and the sacred
meals always preserved their primitive simplicity.
Creeds, manners, social condition, all changed ; but these
meals remained unchangeable ; for the Greeks were
very scrupulous observers of their national religiotii
It is but just to add, that when the guests had
satisfied the requirements of religion by eating the
prescribed food, they might immediately afterwards
commence another meal, more expensive and better
suited to their taste. This was quite a common prac-
tice at Sparta."
The custom of religious meals was common in Italy
as well as in Greece. It existed anciently, Aristotle
' Plato, Laws, XII. 956. Cicero, De Legih., II. 18. Virgil,
V. 70, 774) VII. 135; VIII. 274. So, too, among the Hindus,
in religious ceremonies, one was required to wear a crown, and
to be clothed in white.
» Athenseus, I. 58 ; IV. 32 ; XI. 66. ^ Ibid., IV. 19 ; IV. 20.
OHAP. VII. THE EELIGION OP THE CITY. 209
tells US, among the peoples known as CEnotiinns, Os-
cans, and Ausonians.' Virgil has menlioned it twice
in the ^neid. Old Latinus receives the envoys of
JEneas, not in his home, but in a temple, "consecrated
by the religiou of his ancestors; there took place the.
sacred feasts after the immolation of the victims; there
all the family chiefs sat together at long tables." Far-
ther along, when ^neas arrives at the home of Evander,
he finds him celebrating a sacrifice. The king is in the
midst of his people ; all are crowned with flowers ; all,
seated at the same table, sing a hymn in praise of the
god of the city.
This custom was perpetuated at Rome. There was
always a hall where the representatives of the curies
ate together. The senate, on certain days, held a
sacred repast in the Capitol. At the solemn festivals,
tables were spread in the streets, and the whole people
ate at them. Originally the pontiffs presided at these
repasts ; later, this care was delegated to special priostS,
who were called epulones.''
These old customs give us an idea of the close tie
which united the members of a city. Human associa-
tion was a religion ; its symbol was a meal, of which
they partook together. We must picture to ourselves
one of these little primitive societies, all assembled, or
the heads of families at least, at the same table, each
clothed in whitie, with a crown upon his head ; all make
the libation together, recite the same prayer, sing the
same hymns, and eat the same food, prepared upon tlie
same altar ; in their midst their ancestors are present,
and the protecting gods share the meal.. Neither iii-
' Aristotle, Politics, IV. 9, 3.
* Dionysius, II. 23. Aulus Gellius, XII. 8. Livy, XL. 69.
14
210 THE CITY. BOOK HL
terest, nor agreement, nor habit creates the social bond;
it is this holy communion piously accomplished in the
presence of the gods of the city.
2. The Festivals and the Calendar.
In all ages and in all societies, man has desired to
honor his gods by festivals; he has established that
there should be days during which the religious sent!:
ment should reign in his soul, without being distracted
by terrestrial thoughts and labors. In the number of
days that he has to live he has devoted a part to
the gods.
Every city, had been founded with rites which, in the
thoughts of the ancients, had had the effect of estab-
lishing the national gods within its walls. It was
necessary that the virtue of these rites should be re-
juvenated each year by a new religious ceremony.
This festival they called the birthday; all the citizens
were required to celebrate it.
Whatever was sacred gave occasion for a festival.
There was the festival of the city enclosure, ambur-
balia, and that of the territorial limits, ambarvalia.
On those days the citizens formed a grand procession,
clad in white, and crowned with leaves; they made
the circuit of the city or territory, chanting prayers; at
the head walked priests, leading victims, which they
sacrificed at the close of the ceremony.'
Afterwards came the festival of the founder. Then
each of the heroes of the city, each of those souls that
men invoked as protectors, claimed a worship. Rom-
ulus had his, and Servius Tullius, and many others,
' TibuUus, II. 1. Pestus, v. AmhurhiaUs.
CHAP. VII. THE EELIGION OP THE CITY. 211
even to the nurse of Romulus, and Evander's mother.
In the sime way Athens had the festival of Cecrops,
that of Erechthous, that of Theseus ; and it celebrated
each of the heroes of the country, the guardian of
Theseus, and Eurystheus, and Artdrogeus, and a mul-
titude of others.
There were also the rural festivals, those for plough-
ing, seed-time, the time for flowering, and that for the
vintage. In Greece, as in Italy, every act of the hus-
bandman's life was accompanied with sacrifices, and
men performed their work reciting sacred hymns. At
Rome the priests fixed, every year, the day on which
the vintage was to commence, and the day on which
the new wine might be drunk. Everything was regu-
lated by religion. A religious ordinance required the
vines to be pruned ; for it told man that it would be
impious to offer a libation with the wine of an unpruned
vine.'
Every city had a festival for each of the divinities
which it had adopted as a protector, and it often counted
many of them. When the worship of a new divinity
was introduced into the city, it was necessary to find a
new day in the year to consecrate to him. What char-
acterized the religious festivals was the interdiction of
labor, the obligation to be joyous, the songs, and the
public games. The Athenian religion added. Take care
,to do each other no wrong on those days.''
The calendar was nothing more than the order of the
religious festivals. It was regulated, therefore, by the
priests. At Rome it was long before the calendar was
reduced to writing; the first day of the month, the
' Varro, VI. 16. Virgil, Georg., I. 340-350. Plin}-, 'S.YUt.
Festus, V Vinalia. Plutarch, Rom. Quest., 40; Numa, 14.
' A Ian of Solon, cited by Demosthenes, in Timocrai.
C12 THE CITY. BOOK IlL
((Ontiff, after having offered a sacrifice, oonvoked the
(./eople, and named the festivals that wonld take place
in the course of the mouth. This ' convocatioa was
c&lk'd the calatio, whence came the name of calends,
w)/ich was given to this day.
The calendar was regulated neither on the course of
the moon nor on the apparent course of the sun. It
was governed solely by the laws of religion, mysterious
laws, which the priests alone knew. Sometimes re-
ligion required that the year should be shortened, and
at other times that it should be lengthened. We can
foi'm an idea of primitive calendars, if we recollect that
among the Albans the month of May had twelve days,
and that March had thirty-six.'
We can see that the calendar of one city would in
no wise resemble that of another, since the religion
M'as not the same in both, and the festivals, as well as
the gods, were difierent. The year had not the same
length from one city to another. The months did not
bear the same names : at Athens they had quite other
natjies than at Thebes, and at Rome they had not the
same names as at Lavinium. This was due to the fact
that the namo of each month was derived, ordinarily,
from the principal festival it contained, and the festi-
vals were not the same. Different cities had no under-
standing to commence the year at the same time, or to
count the series of their years from the same date. In
Greece the Olympic festival afforded, in the course of
time, a common date ; but this did not prevent each
city from having its own particular style of reckoning.
In Italy every city counted its years from the day of
its foundation.
' Censorinua, 22. Macrobius, I. 14; I. 16. Varro, V. 28;
VI. 27.
CHAP. VU, THE EELIGION OP THE CITY. 213
3. Tlie Census.
Among the most important ceremonies of the city
religion there was one known as the purification. It
took place at Athens every year ; at Rome it occurred
once in five yeare.' The rites which were then ob-
served, and the very name which it bore, indicate that
the object of this ceremony was to efface the faults
committed by the citizens against the worship. In-
deed, this religion, with its complicated forms, was a
source of terror for the ancients: as faith and purity of
intention went for vefy little, and the religion con-
sisted entirely in the minute practice of innumerable
rules, they were always in fear of having been guilty
of some negligence, some omission, or some error, and
were never sure of being free fronl the anger or malice
of some god. An expiatory sacrifice was necessary,
therefore, to reassure the heart of man. The mngis-
ti'ate whose duty it was to offer it (at Rome it was
the censor; before the censor, it was the consul, and
before the consul, the king) commenced by assuring
himself, by the aid of the auspices, that the gods
accepted the ceremony. He then convoked the peo^
pie by means of a herald, who, for this purpose, made
use of a certain sacramental formula. All the ciiizens,
on the appointed day, collected outside the walls ; there,
all being silent, the magistrate walked tbree times
around the assembly, driving before him three vic-
tims, a sheep, a liog, a bull (suovetaurile) ; these three
animals together constituted, among the Greeks, as
' Diogenes Laertius, Life of Socrates, 23. Harpocration,
0a^fiax6;. They also purified the domestic hearth every year.
iEschylus, Choeph., 966.
214 THE CITY. BOOK HI.
among the Romans, an expiatory sacrifice. Priests
and victims followed the procession. When the third
circuit was completed, the magistrate pronounced a
set form of prayer, and immolated the victims.' From
this moment every stain was effaced, all negligence in
the worship repaired, and the city was at peace with
its gods. Two things were necessary for an act of
this nature, and of so great importance ; one was, that
no stranger should be found among the citizens, as this
would have destroyed the effect of the ceremony ; the
other was, that all the citizens should be present, with-
out which the city would have retained some stain. It
was necessary, therefore, that this reli^ous ceremony
should be preceded by a numbering of the citizens.
At Rome and at Athens, they were counted with scra-
pulous care. It is j)robable that the number was pro-
nounced by the magistrate in the formula of prayer, as
it was afterwards inserted in the account of the cere-
mony which the censor drew up.
The loss of citizenship was the punishment of the
man who failed to have his name enrolled. This sever-
ity is easily explained. The man who had not taken
part in the religious act, who had not been purified,
for whom the prayer had not been pronounced or the
victim sacrificed, could no longer be a member of the
city. In the sight of the gods, who had been present
at the ceremony, he was no longer a citizen."
• Varro, L. L., VI. 86. Valerius Maximua, V. 1, 10. Livy,
I. 44; III. 22; VI. 27. Propertius, IV. 1, 20. Servius, ad
Eclog., X. 55 ; ad 2En., VIII. 231. Livy attributes this institu-
tion to king Servius; but probably it is older than Rome, and
existed in all the cities, as well as at Borne. It is attributed to
Servius just because he modified it, as we shall see.
^ Citizens absent from liome were required to return home for
UHAF. YII. THE EELIGIOIT OF THE CITY, 215
We are enabled to judge of the iraportance of this
ceremony by the exorbitant power of the magistrate
who presided at it. The censor, before commencing
the sacrifice, ranged the people in a certain order ; the
senators, the knights,' and the tribes, each rank in its
appropriate place. Absolute master on that day, he
fixed the place of each man in the different categories.
Then, all having been arranged according to his direc-
tions, he performed the sacred act. Now, a result of
this was, that from that day to the following lustration,
every man preserved in the city the rank which the
censor had assigned him in the ceremony. He was a
senator if on that day he had been counted among
the senators ; a knight if he had figured among the
knights ; if a simple citizen, he formed a part of the
tribe in the ranks of which he had been on that day;
and if the magistrate had refused to admit him into the
ceremony, he was no longer a citizen. Thus the place
which one had occupied in the religious act, and where
the gods had seen him, was the one he held in the city
for five years. Such was the origin of the immense
power of the censor.
In this ceremony none but citizens took part; but
their wives, their children, their slaves, their prop-
erty, real and personal, were in a manner purified in
the person of the head of the family. It was for this
reason that, before the sacrifice, each citizen was • re-
quired to give to the censor an account of the persons
and property belonging to him.
The lustration was accomplished in Augustus's time
with the same exactitude and the same rites as in the
the lustration ; nothing could exempt them from this. YcUeius,
II IS.
216 THE CITT. 1300K m.
most ancient times. The pontiffs still regarded it as a
religious act, while statesmen saw in it an excellent
measure of administration, at least.
4. Meligion in the AssenMy^ in the Senate, in the
Tribunal, in the Army, in tlie Triumph.
There was not a single act of public life in which the
gods were not seen to take a part. As he wiis under
the influence of the idea that they were by turns ex-
cellent protectors or cruel enemies, man never dared
to act without being sure that they were favorable),
The people assembled only on such days as religion
permitted. They remembered that the city had suf-
fered a disaster on a certain day ; this was, doubtless,
because on that day the gods had been either absent
or irritated ; tliey would probably be in the same mood
at the same season every year, for reasons unknown to
mortals. This day, therefore, was forever unlucky;
there were no assemblies, no courts; public life was
suspended.
At Rome, before an assembly proceeded to business,
the augurs were required to declare that the gods were
propitious. The assembly commenced with a prayer,
which the augur pronounced, and which the consul
repeated after him.
There was the same custom among the Athenians.
The assembly always commenced by a religious act.
Priests offered a sacrifice ; a large circle was then traced
by pouring lustral water upon the ground, and within
this sacred circle the citizens assembled.' Before any
* Aristophanes, Acharn., 44. JEschines, in Timareh., I. 21;
in Ctesiph., 176, and Scholiast Dinarch., in Aristog., 14.
CHAP. VIl. IHK RELIGION Or THB CITY. 217
oratoi began to speak, a prayer was pronounced be-
fore the silent people. The auspices were also con-
sulted, and if any unfavorable sign appeared in the
heavens, the assembly broke up at once.'
The tribune, or speaker's stand, was a sacred place,
and the orator never ascended it without a crown upon
his head.'
The jjlace of assembly of the Roman senate was
always a temple. If a session had been held else-
where than in a sacred place, its acts would have been
null and void ; for the gods would not have been pres-
ent. Before every deliberation, the piesident offered a
sacrifice' and pronounced a prayer. In the hall there
was an altar, where every senator, on entering, offered
a libation, at the same tinie invoking the gods." ^yf' ^ '
The Athenian senate was little different. The hall
also contained an altar and a sacred fire. A religious
ceremony was observed at the opening of each session.
Every senator, on entering, approached the altar, and
pronounced a prayer. While the session lasted, evei-y
senator wore a crown upon his head, as in religious
ceremonies.*
At Rome, as well as at Athens, courts of justice were
open in the city only on such days as religion pro-
nounced favorable. At Athens the session of the court
was held near an altar, and commenced with a sac-
' Aristophanes, Acharn., 171.
* Aristophanes, Thesmoph., 381, and Scholiast.
" Varro, cited by Aulos! Gellius, XIV. 7. Cicero, ad Fdmil.,
X. 12. Suetonius, ^ug>., 85. Diop Cassius, LIV. p. 621. Ser-
vius, VII. 153.
■* Andocides, Be Mysi., 44, De Red., 15. Antiphon, Pro
Ghor., 45. Lycurgus, in Leocr., 122. Demosthenes, in Meidi-
am, 114. Diodorus, XIV. 4.
218 THB CITT. BOOK m.
rifico.' In Homer's time the judges assembled «m a
holy circle."
' Festus says, that in the rituals of the Etruscans were
directions as to the founding of a city, the consecra-
tion of a temple, the arrangement of curies and tribes
in a public assembly, and the ranging of an army in
ordei of battle. All these things were marked in the
ritual, because all these things were connected with
religion.
In war, religion was as influential, at least, as in
peace. In the Italian cities' there were colleges of
priests, called fetiaks, who presided, like the heralds
among the Greeks, at all the sacred ceremonies to which
international relations gave rise. A feticHis, veiled,
and with a crown upon Ids head, declared war by pro-
nouncing a sacramental formula. At the same time,
the consul, in priestly robes, offered a sacrifice!, and
solemnly opened the temple of the most venerated and
most ancient divinity of Italy. Before setting out on
an expedition, the army being assembled, the general
repeated prayers and offered a sacrifice. The custom
was the same at Athens and at Sparta.'
During a campaign the army presented the image
of the city; its religion followed it. The Greeks took
with them the statues of their divinities. Every Greek
or Roman army carried with it a hearth, on which the
sacred fire was kept up night and day.* A Roman
' Aristophanes, Wasps, 860-865. Homer, Iliad, XVIII. 604.
* Dionysius, II. 73. Servius, X. 14.
. ' Dionysius, IX. 57. "Virgil, VII. 601. Xenophon, neUen.,
VI. 6.
* Herodotus, VIII. 6. Plutaroi., Agesilans, 6 ; Publicola, 17.
Xenophon, Gov. Laced., 14. Dionyeius, IX. 6. Stobwus, 42.
Julius Obsequens, 12, 116,
CHAP. VII. THE EEUGIOIT OF THE CITY. 219
army was accompanied by augurs and puUarii (feeders
of the sacred chickens) : every Greek anny had a
diviner.
Xet us examine a Roman army at the moment when
it is preparing for battle. The consul orders a victim
to be brought, and strikes it with the axe; it falls: its
entrails will indicate the will of the gods. An aruspex
examines them,, and if the signs are favorable, the con-
sul gives the signal for battle. The most skilful dis-
positions, the most favorable circumstances, are of no
account if the gods do not permit the, battle. The
fundamental principle of the military art among the
Romans was to be able to put oflF a battle when the
gods were opposed to it. It was for this reason that
they made a sort of citadel of their camp every day.
Let us now examine a Greek army, and we will take
.for example the battle of Plataea. The Spartans are
drawn up in line; each one has his post for battle.
They all have crowns upon their heads, and the flute-
players sound the religious hymns. The king, a little
in rear of the ranks, slaughters the victims. But the
entrails do not give the favorable signs, and the sacri-
.fice must be repeated. Two, three, four victims are
successively immolated. During this time the Persian
cavalry approach, shoot their arrows, and kill quite a
number of Spartans, The Spartans remain immova-
ble, their shields placed at their feet, without even
putting themselves on the defensive against the arrows
of the enemy. They await the signal of the gods.
At last the victims oflTer the favorable signs; then the
Spartans raise their shields, seize their. swords, move
on to battle, and are victorious.
After every victory they offer a sacrifice; and this
is the origin of the triumph, which is so well known
220 THE CITY. BOOK in.
among the Romans, and which was not less common
among the Greeks, This custom was a consequence
of the opinion which attributed the victory to the gods
of the city. Before the battle the army had addressed
a prayer to them, like the one we read in jEschylus :
" To you, O gods, who inhabit and possess our land, if
our arms are fortunate, and if our city is saved, I
promise to sprinkle your altars with the blood of sheep,
to sacrifice bulls to you, and to hang up in your holy
temples the trophies conquered by the spear." ' By
virtue of this promise, the victor owed a sacrifice. The
army entered the city to ofier it, and repaired to the
temple, forming a long procession, and singing a sa-
cred hymn — dgta/t^o^.'
At Rome the ceremony was very nearly the same.
The army marched in procession to the principal tem-
ple of the city. The priests walked at the head of the
cortege, leading victims. On reaching the temple, the
general sacrificed the victims to the gods. On their
way the soldiers all wore crowns, as was becoming in
a sacred ceremony, and sung a hymn, as in Greece.
There came a time, indeed, when the soldiers did not
scruple to replace the hymn, which they did not undei"-
stand, by barrack songs and raillery at their general ;
but they still preserved the custom of repeating the re-
frain lo triumphed Indeed, it was this refrain which
gave the name to the ceremony.
Thus, in time of peace, as in war time, religion intei"-
vened in all acts. It was everywhere present, it en-
' ^schylus, Sept. Coni. Theh., 252-260. Eurip., Phcen., 573.
' Diodoius, IV. 6. Fhotius, ^gio/i/Sos, sniSn^it vixijs, jio.unij'.'
> Varro, L. L., VI. 64. Pliny, N. H., VII. 56. Macrobius,
I. 19.
CHAP. Til. THE RELIGION OF THE CITY. 221
veloped man. The soul, the body, private life, public
life, meals, festivals, assemblies, tribunals, battles, all
were under the empire of this city religion. It regu-
lated all the acts of man, disposed of every instant of
his life, fixed all bis habits. It governed a human
being with an authority so absolute that there was
nothing beyond its control.
One would have a very false idea of human nature
to believe that this ancient religion was an imposture,
and, so to speak, a comedy. Montesquieu pretends
that the Romans adopted a worship only to restrain
the people. A religion never had such an origin ; and
every religion that has come to sustain itself only from
motives of public utility, has not stood long. Mon-
tesquieu has also said that the Romans subjected reli-
gion to the state. The contrary is true. It is impossi-
ble to read many pages of Livy without being con-
vinced of this. Neither the Romans nor the Greeks
knew anything of those sad conflicts between church
and state which have been so common in other societies.
But this is due solely to the fact that at Rome as well as
at Sparta and Athens, the state was enslaved by its
feligion; or, rather, the state and religion were so com-
pletely confounded, that it was impossible even to dis-
tinguish the one from the other, to say nothing of
/orming an idea of a conflict between the two.
222 THE CITTf. BOOK ni
CHAPTER VIII.
The Bitnals and the Annals.
The character and the virtue of the religion of the
ancients was not to elevate human intelligence to the
conception of the absolute ; to open to the eager mind
a brilliant road, at the end of which it could gain a
glimpse of God. This religion was a badly connected
assemblage of small creeds, of minute practices, of
petty observances. It was not necessary to seek the
meaning of them ; there was no need of reflecting, or
of giving a reason for them. The word religion did
not signify what it signifies for us ; by this word we
understand a body of dogmas, a doctrine concerning
God, a symbol of faith concerning what is in and
around us. This same word, among the ancients, sig-
nified rites, ceremonies, acts of exterior worship. The
doctrine was of small account : the practices were the
important part ; these were obligatory, and bound man
(ligare, rdigio). Religion was a material bond, a chain
which held man a slave. Man had originated it, and
he was governed by it. He stood in fear of it, and
dared not reason upon it, or discuss it, or examine it.
Gods, heroes, dead men, claimed a material worship
from him, and he paid them the debt, to keep them
friendly, and, still more, not to make enemies of them.
Man counted little upon their friendship. Thej
were envious, irritable gods, without attachment or
friendship for man, and willingly at war with him.
Neither did the gods love man, nor did man love his
gods. He believed in their existence, but would have
CHAP. YHI. THE EITUALS AND THE ANKAL8. 223
wished that they did not exist. He feared even his
domestic and national gods, and was continually in
fear of being betrayed by them. His great inquietude
was lest he might incur their displeasure. He was oc-
cupied all his life in appeasing them. Paces deorum
g'MOsrej'e, says the poet. But how satisfy them? Above
all, how could one be sure that he had satisfied them,
and that they were on his side ? Men believed that
the employment of certain formulas answered this pur-
pose. A certain prayer, composed of certain words,
had been followed by the success that was asked for ;
this was, without doubt,, because it had been heard by
the god, and had exercised an influence upon him; that
it had been potent, more potent than the god, since he
had not been able to resist it. They therefore pre-
served the mysterious and sacred words of this prayer.
After the father, the son repeated it. As soon as writ-
ing was in use it was committed to writing. Every
family, evei'y religious family at least, had a book in
which were written the prayers of which the ancestors
had made use, and with which the gods had complied.'
It was an arm which man employed against the incon-
stancy of the gods. But not a word or syllable must
be changed, and least of all the rhythm in which it had
been chanted. For then the prayer would have lost
its force, and the gods would have remained free. But
the formula was not enough ; there were exterior acts
whose details were minute and unchangeable. The
slightest gesture of the one who performed the sacri-
fice, and the smallest parts of his costume, were gov-
erned by strict rules. In addressing one god, it was
' Dionysius, I. 76. Varro, VI. 90. Cicero, Brutus, 16.
Aulus Gellius, XJII. 19.
224 THE CITY. BOOK IIL
necessary to have the head veiled ; in addressing an-
other, the head was uncovered ; for a third, the skirt
of the toga was thrown over the shoulder. In certain
acts the feet had to be naked. There were certain
prayers which were without effect unless the man, after
pronouncing them, pirouetted on one foot from left to
right. The nature of the victim, the color of the hair,
the manner of slaying it, even the shape of the knife,
and the kind of wood employed to roast the flesh — all
was fixed for every god by the religion of each family,
or of each city. In vain the most fervent heart offered
to the gods the fattest victims: if one of the innumer-
able rites of the sacrifice was neglected, the sacrifice
was without effect; the least failure made of the sacred
act an act of impiety. The slightest alteration dis-
turbed and confused the religion of a country, and
changed the protecting gods into so many cruel ene-
mies. It was for this reason that Athens was so severe
against the priest who made some change in the ancient
rites.' It was for the same reason that the Roman
senate degraded its consuls and its dictators who had
committed any error in a sacrifice.
All these formulas and practices had been handed
dowi. by ancestors who had proved their efiicacy.
There was no occasion for innovation. It was a duty
to rest upon what the ancestors had done, and the
highest piety consisted in imitating them. It mattered
little that a belief changed ; it might be freely modified
from age to age, and take a thousand diverse forms, in
accordance with the reflection of sages, or with the
popular imagination. But it was of the greatest im-
portance that the formulas should not fall into oblivion,
' Demosthenes, in Ntceram, IIG, 117.
CHAP. VIII. THE RITUALS AND THE ANNALS. 225
and that the lites should not be modified. Every city,
therefore, had a book in which these were preserved.
The use of sacred books was universal among the
Greeks, the Romans, and the Etruscans.' Sometimes
the ritual was written on tablets of wood, sometimes
on cloth ; Athens engraved its rites upon tablets of
copper, that they might be imperishable. Rome had
its books of the pontiffs, its books of the augurs, its
book of ceremonies, and its collection of Indigitamen-
ta. There was not a city which had not also its col-
lection of ancient hymns in honor of its gods." In vain
did language change with manners and beliefs ; the
words and the rhythm remained unchangeable, and on
the festivals men continued to sing these hymns after
they no longer understood them. These books and
songs, written by the priests, were preserved by them
with the greatest care. They were never revealed to
strangers. To reveal a rite, or a formula, would have
been to betray the religion of the city, and to deliver
its gods to the enemy. For greater precaution they
were concealed from the citizens themselves,' and the
priests alone were allowed to know them.
In the minds of the people, all that was ancient was
venerable and sacred. When a Roman wished to say
that anything was dear to him, he said, " That is an-
cient for me." The Greeks had the same expression.
The cities clung strongly to their past, because they
found in the past all the motives as well as all the rules
' Pausanias, IV. 27. Plutarch, Cont. Cdlot., 17. Pollux,
VIII. 128. Pliny, iV. H., XIII. 21. Val. Max., I. 1, 8. Var-
ro, L. L., VI. 16. Censorinus, 17. Pestus, v. RUvdles.
' Plutarch, Theseus, 16. Tac, Ann., IV. 43. .Slliaii, U. V.,
II. 39.
15
226 THE CITY. BOOK III
of their religion. They had need to look back, for it
was upon recollections and traditions that their entire
worship rested. Thus history had for the ancients a
greater importance than it has for us. It existed a
long time before Herodotus and Thacydides, — written
or unwritten ; as simple oral traditions, or in books, lis
was contemporary with the birth of citieSi There was
no city, however small and obscure it might be, that
did not pay the greatest attention to preserving an
account of what had passed within it. This was not
vanity, but religion. A city did not believe it had the
right to allow anything to be forgotten ; for everything
in its history was connected with its worship.
History commenced; indeed, with the act of founda-
tion, and recorded the sacred name of the founder. It
was continued with the legend of the gods of the city,
its protecting heroes. It taught the date, the origin, and
the reason of every worehip, and explained its obscure
rites. The prodi^es which the god» of the country
had performed, and by which they had manifested their
powen, their goodness, or their anger, were recorded
there ; there were described the ceretponies by which
the priests had' skilfully turned a bad presage, or had
appeased the anger of the gods ; there were recorded
the epidemics which had afflicted the city, on what
day a temple had been consecrated, and for what rea-
son a sacrifice had been established ;' there were record-
ed all the events which related to religion, the victories
that proved the assistance of the gods, and in which
these gods had often been seen fighting, the defeats
which indicated theu* anger, and for which it had been
necessary to institute an, expiatory sacrifice. All this
was written for the instruction and the piety of the de-
scendants. All this history was a material proof of the
CHAP. Vlil. THE EITlTALS AND THE ANNALS. 227
existence- of the national gods ; for the events which
it containeil were the visible form under which these
gods had' revealed themselves from age to age. Even
among these facts there were many that gave rise to
festivals and" annual sacrifices. The history of the city
told the citizen what-he must believeand what hemust
adore. Then, too, this history was written by priestsi.
Rome had its annals of the pontiffs; the Sabine priests,
the Samnite priests, and the Etruscan priests had
similar ones.' Among the Greeks there has been pre-
served to us the recollection of the books or secret
annals of Athens, Sparta, Delphi, Ifaxos, and Taren-
tum." When- Pausanias travelled in Greece, in the
time of Hadrian, the priests of every city related to him
the old local histories. They did not invent them, but
had learned them in their annals. This sort of history
was entirely local. It commenced at the foundation,
because what had happened before this date was of no
interest to the city; and this explains why the an-
cients have so completely ignored thei-r earliest history.
Their records related only to affairs in which the city
had been engaged, and gave no heed to the rest of the
world. Every city had its special history, as it had its
religion and its calendar.
We can easily believe that these city annals were
exceedingly dry, and very whimsical, both in substance'
and in form. They were not a work of art, but a re-
ligious work. Later came the writers, the narrators,
' Dionysiusf, II. 49. Livy, X. 33. Cicero, DeDivin.^ II. 41 ;
I. 33 ; II. 23. Censorinus, 12, 17. Suetonius, Claudius, 42.
Macrobius, I. 12; V. 19. Solin., 11. 9. Servius, VII. 678;
VIII. 398. tetters of Mare. Aurel., IV. 4.
" Plutarch, Corlt. Colot.,1'! ; Solon, l\; Mor cd. j 8G9. Athe-
seus, XI. 49. Tac, Ann., IV. 43.
228 THE CITT. BOOK HI.
like Herodotus ; the thinkei-s, like Thucydides. Histo-
ry then left the hands of the priests, and became some-
thing quite different. Unfortunately these beautiful
and brilliant writings still leave us to regret the early
annals of the cities, and all that they would have
taught us of the beliefs and the inner life of the an-
cients. But these books, which appear to have, been
kept secret, which never left the sanctuaries, which
were never copied, and which the priests alone read,
have all perished, and only a feded recollection of them
has remained.
This trace, it is true, has a great value for us. With-
out it we should perhaps have a right to reject all that
Greece and Rome relate to us of their antiquities ; all
those accounts, that appear to us so improbable, be-
cause they differ so much from our habits and our man-
ner of thinking and acting, might pass for the product
of men's imaginations. But this trace of the old an-
nals that has remained shows us the pious respect
which the ancients had for their history. Every city
had archives, in which the facts were religiously pre-
served as fast as they took place. In these sacred
books every page was contemporary with the event
which it recorded. It was materially impossible to
alter these documents, for the priests had the care of
them; and it was greatly to the interest of religion
that they should remain unalterable. It was not even
easy for the pontiff, as he wrote the lines, skilfully to
insert statements contrary to the truth; for he believed
that all events came from the gods ; that he revealed
their will, and that he was giving future generations
subjects for pious souvenirs, and even for sacred acts.
Every event that took place in the city commenced at
once to form a part of the religion of the future. With
CHAP. VIII. THE EIT0ALS AND THE ANNALS. 229
such beliefs we can easily understand that there would
be much involuntary error — a result of credulity,
of a love for the marvellous, and of faith in the nation-
al gods ; but voluntary falsehbod is not to be thought
of; for that would have been impious; it would have
violated the sanctityof the annals, and corrupted the
religion. We can believe, therefore, that in these
books, if all was not true, there was nothing at least
that the priests did not believe. Now, for the his-
torian who seeks to pierce the obscurity of those early
times, it is a great source of confidence to know that,
if he has to deal with errors, he has not to deal with
imposture. These errors even, having still the advan-
tage of being contemporary with those ancient ages
that he is studying, may reveal to him, if not the de-
tails of events, at least the sincere convictions of men.
These annals, it is true, were kept secret ; neither
Herodotus nor Livy read them. But several passages
of ancient authors prove that some parts became pub-
lic, and that fragments of them came to the knowl-
edge of historians.
There were, moreover, besides the anaals, — these
written and authentic documents, — oral traditions,
which were perpetuated among the people of a city ;
not vague and indifferent traditions, like ours, but tra-
ditions dear to the cities, such as did not vary to
please the imagination, such as men were not at
liberty to modify ; for they formed a part of th'e wor-
ship, and were composed of narrations and songs that
were repeated from year to year in the religious festi-
vals. These sacred and unchangeable hymns fixed
the memory of events, and perpetually revived the tra-
ditions. Doubtless we should be wrong in believing
that these traditions had the exactitude of the annals.
230 THE CITY. BOOK HI.
The desire to praise the gods might be stronger than
the love of truth. Still they must have been at least
a reflection of the annals, and must generally have
been in accord with them. For the priests who drew
up and who read the annals were the same who pre-
sided at the festivals where these old lays were sung.
There came a time, too, when these annals were
divulged. Rome finally published hers; those of other
Italian cities were known ; the priests of <jreek cities
no longer made any scruple of relating what theirs
contained. , Men studied and compiled from these
authentic monuments. There was formed a school of
learned men from Varro and Verrius Flaccus to Aulus
Gellius and Macrobius. Light was thrown upon all
ancient history. Some ereors were corrected which
had found their way into the traditions, and which the
historians of the preceding period had repeated : men
learned, for example, that Porsenna had taken Home,
and that gold had been paid to the Gauls. The age
of historical criticism had begun. But it is worthy of
remark that this criticism, which went back to. the
sources, and studied the annals, found nothing there
that authorized it to reject the historic whole which
writers like Herodotus and Livy had constructed.
CHAP. IX. GOVEENMEJSX. THE KING. ^1
CHAPTER ^r'
Government ^J;ke' City. The King.
'^imgious Authority of the Kiny.
We should not picture to ourselves a city, at its
foundation, deliberating on the form of government
that it will adopt, devising and discussing its laws,
and preparing its institutions. It was not thus that
laws were made and that governments were estab-
lished. The political institutions of the city were bora 'iik
with the city itself and on the same day with it.
Every member of the city carried them within himself, «--
for the germ ©f them was in each man's belief and
rehgion.
Religion prescribed that the hearth should always
have a supreme priest. It did not permit the sacer-
dotal authority to be divided. The domestic hearth
had a high priest, who was the father of the family ;
the hearth of the cury, had its curio, or phratriaroh ;
every tribe, in the same manner, had its religious chief,
whom the Athenians called the king of the tribe. It
was also necessary that the city religion should have
its supreme priest.
This priest of the public hearth bore the name of
king. Sometimes they gave him other titles. As he
was especially the priest of the prytaneum, the Greeks
preferred to call him the prytane ; sometimes also they
called him the archon. Under these different names
of king, pi-ytane, and archon we are to see a personage
who is, above nil, the chief of the worship. He keeps
up the fire, offers the sacrifice, pi'onounces the prayer,
and presides at the religious repasts.
THE CITY. BOOK III.
It may^T°''*^ ^^^^^ to offer proof that the ancient
kings of Gre!!^""*^ ^'^'^ ^^''^ priests. In Aristotle
we°read, "The!*^°^^^^ P"^^'° sacrifices of the city
belongs, according 'to '^■^Sious custom, not to special
priests, but to those merr>*S^^°_f^''i^e their dignity
from the hearth, and who in one pia-3C4^5 called kings,
in another prytanes, and in a third archons; o^Thus
wiiles Aristotle, the man who best understood the con-
stitution of the Greek cities. This passage, so precise,
shows, in the first place, that the three words king,
prytane, and archoti were a long time synonymous.
So true is this, that nn ancient historian, Charon of
Lampsacus, writing a book about the kings of Lace-
daemon, entitled it Archons and Prytanes of the Lace-
doemonians? It shows also that the personage to
whom was applied indifferently one of these three
names — perh.ips all of them at the same time — was
the priest of the city, and that the worship of the
public hearth was the source of his dignity and power.
This sacerdotal character of primitive royalty is
clearly indicated by the ancient writers. In .^schylus
the daughters of Danaus address the king of Argos
in these terras : " Thou art the supreme prytane, and
watchest over the hearth of this country." ' In Eurip-
ides, Orestes, the murderer of his mothei-, says to
Men'.'huis, "It is just that I, the son of Agamemnon,
should reign at Argos." And Menelans replies, " Art
thou, then, fit, — thou, a murderer, — to touch the ves-
sels of lustral water for the sacrifices? Art thou fit to
slay the victims ? " * The principal office of a king was,
' Aristotle, Pdlit., VIL 5, 11 (VI. 8). Comp. DionyBius,
II. Co.
* Suidas, V. Xiqmv. ' ^sch., Supp., 361 (357).
* Eiu'ipides, Orestes, 1605.
CHAP. IX. THE KINS. 283
therefore, to perform religious ceremonies. An ancient
king of Sicyon was tleposed beeanse, having soiled his
hands by a murder, he was no longer in a condition to
oifer the sacrifices.' Being no longer fit for a priest, he
could no longer be king.
Homer and Virgil represent the kings as continually
occupied with sacred ceremonies. We know from
Demosthenes that the ancient Icings of Attica per-
formed themselves all the saci'ifices that were pre-
scribed by the religion of the city; and from Xenophon
that the kings of Sparta were the chiefs of the Laoedee-
monian leligion.'' The Etruscan Lucumones were, at
the same time, magistrates, military chiefs, and pontifis."
The case was not at all different with the Roman
kings. Tradition always represents them as priests.
The first was Romulus, who was acquainted with the
science of augury, and who founded the city in accord-
ance with religious rites. The second was Nuraa:
he fulfilled, Livy tells us, the greater part of the priestly
functions ; but he foresaw that his successors, often
having wars to maintain, would not always be able to
take care of the sacrifices, and instituted the flamens to
replace the kings when the latter were absent from
Rome. Thus the Roman priesthood was only an
emanation from the primitive royalty.
These king-priests were inaugurated with a religious
ceremonial. The new king, being conducted to the
summit of the Capitoliue Hill, was seated upon a stone
seat, his face turned towards the south. On his left
was seated an augur, his head oovej-ed with sacred
fillets, and holding in his hand the augur's staff. He
' Nie. Damas., Frag. Hist. Gr., t. III. p. 394.
3 Demosthenes, in Necer. Xenophon, Goii. Laeed., 13.
3 Virgil, X. 175. Livy, V. 1. Censorinus, i.
234 THE CITT. BOOK HI.
marked off certain lines in the heavens, pronounced a
prayer, and, placing his hand upon the king's head,
supplicated the gods to show, by a visible sign, that
this chief was agreeable to them. Then, as soon as a
flash of lightning or a flight of birds had manifested the
will of the gods, the new king took possession of his
charge. Livy describes this ceremony for the installa-
tion of Numa ; Dionysius assures us that it took place
for all the kings, and after the kings, for the consuls ;
he adds that it was still performed in his time,' There
was a reason for such a custom ; as the king was to be
supreme chief of the religion, and the safety of the city
was to depend upon his prayers and sacrifices, it was
important to make sure, in the first place, that this
king was accepted by the gods.
The ancients have left us no account of the manner
in which the Spartan kings were elected ; but we may
be certain that the will of the gods was consulted in
the election. We can even see from old customs
which survived to the end of the history of Sparta,
that the ceremony by which the gods were consulted
was renewed every nine yeara; so fearful were they
that the king might lose the favor of the divinity.
" Every nine years," says Plutarch, " the Ephors chose
a very clear night, but without a moon, and sat in
silence, with their eyes fixed upon the heavens. If they
saw a star cross from one quarter of the heavens to the
other, this indicated that their kings were guilty of
some neglect of the gods. The kings were then sus-
pended from their duties till an oracle came from
Delphi to relieve them from their forfeiture." *
' Livy, I. 18. Dionysius, 11. 6 ; IV. 80.
* Plutarch, Agis, 11.
CHAP. IX. THE KING. 235
2. Political Authority of the Sing.
V^ust as in the family the authority was inherent in
the priesthood, and the father, as head of the domestic
worship, was at the same time judge and master, so
the high priest of the city was at the same time its
political chieiTJThe altar — to borrow an expression of
Aristotle — conferred dignity and powei- upon him.
There is nothing to surprise us in this confusion of the
priesthood and the civil power. We find it at the
beginning of almost all societies, either because during
the infancy of a people nothing but religion will com-
mand their obedience, or because our nature feels the
need of not submitting to any other power than that
of a moral idea.
We have seen how the religion of the city was
mixed up with everything. Man felt himself at every
moment dependent upon his gods, and consequently
upon this priest, who was placed between them and
himself. This priest watched over the sacred fire; it
was, as Pindar says, his daily worship that saved the
city every day,' He it was who knew the formulas
and prayers which the gods could not resist ; at the
moment of combat, he it was who slew the victim, and
drew upon the army the protection of the gods. It
was very natural that a man armed with such a power
should be accepted and recognized as a leader. From
the fact that religion had so great a part in the gov-
ernment, in the courts, and in war, it necessarily fol-
lowed that the priest was at the same time magistrate,
judge, and military chief "The kings of Sparta," says
Aristotle,* "have three attributes: they perform the
' Pindar, Nem., XI. 5. = Aristotle, Politics, III. 9.
236 THE CITY. BOOK 111.
sacrifices, they command in war, and they administer
justice." Dionysius of Halicarnassus expresses himself
in the same manner regarding the kings of Rome.
Tiie constitutional rules of this monarchy were very
simple ; it was not necessary to seek long for tliem ;
they flowed from the rules of the worship themselves.
The founder, who had established the sacred fire, was
naturally the first priest. Hereditary succession was
the constant rule, in the beginning, for the transmission
of this worship. Whether the sacred fire was that of a
family or that of a city, religion prescribed that the
care of supporting it should always pass from father to
son. ^he priesthood was therefore hereditary, and the
power went with itj3
A well-known fact in the history of Greece proves,
in a striking manner that, in the beginning, the kingly
office belonged to the man who set up the hearth of the
city. We know that the population of the Ionian col-
onies was not composed of Athenians, but that it was
a mixture of Pelasgians, -^olians, Abantes, and Cad-
raeans. Yet all the hearths of the cities were placed
by the members of the religious family of Codrus.
It followed that these colonists, instead of having for
leaders men of their own race, — thePelasgi aPelasgian,
the Abantes an Abantian, the jEoliaus an ^olian, — all
gave the royalty in their twelve cities to the Codridaa.'
Assuredly these persons had not acquired their author-
ity by force, for they were almost the only Athenians
in this numerous agglomeration. But as they had
' We speak here only of the early ages of cities. We shall
see, farther on, that a time came when hereditary succession
ceased to' be the rule, and we shall explain why at Rome royalty
was not hereditary.
' Herodotus, I. 142-148. Pausanias, VI. Straho.
CHAP. IX. THE KING. 237
established the sacred fires, it was their office to main-
tain them. The royalty was, therefore, bestowed' upon
them without a contest, and remained hereditary in
their families. Battus had founded Cyrene in Africa ;
and the Battiadse were a long lime in possession of
the royal dignity there. Protis founded Marseilles;
and the Protiadse, from father to son, performed the
priestly office there, and enjoyed great privileges.
It was not force, then, that created chiefs and kings
in those ancient cities. It would not be correct to say
that the first man who was king there was a lucky
soldier. Authority flowed from the worship of the sa-
cred fire. Religion created the king in the city, as it
had made the family chief in the house. A belief, an
unquestionable and imperious belief, declared that the
hereditary priest of the hearth was the depositary of
the holy duties and the guardian of the gods. How
could one hesitate to obeyj such a man ? A king was
I sacred being; dnadst; Jf go), says Pindar. Men saw
in him, not a complete god, but at least "the most
powerful man to call down the anger of the gods;" '
the man without whose aid no prayer was heard, no
sacrifice accepted.
This royalty,' semi-religious, semi-politieal, was estab-
lished in all cities, from their foundation, without effi)rt
on the part of the kings, without resistance on the part
of the subjects. We do not see at the origin of the
ancient nations those fluctuations and struggles which
mark the painful establishment of modern societies.
We know how long a time was necessary, after the fall
of the Roman empire, to restore the rules of a regular
society. Europe saw, during several centuries, opposing
' Sophocles, (Edipus Rex, 34.
238 THE CITT. BOOK III.
principles dispute for the government of* the people,
and the people at times rejecting all social organization.
No such spectacle was seen in ancient (xreece, or in
ancient Italy; their history does not commence with
conflicts : revolutions appeared only at the close.
Among these populations, society formed slowly and
by degrees, while passing from the family to the trihe,
and from the tribe to the city, but without shock and
without a struggle. Royalty was established quite
naturally, in the family first, in the city later. It was
not devised in the imagination of a few ; it grew out
of a necessity that was manifest to the eyes of all.
During long ages it was peaceable, honored, and obeyed,-
The kings had no need- of material force ; they had
neither army nor treasury; but, sustained by a faith
that hnd a powerful influence over the mind, their
■ authority was sacred and inviolable.
A revolution, of which we shall speak farther on,
overturned the kingly power in every city ; but when
it fell, it left no rancor in the hearts of men. That
contempt, mingled with hatred, which ordinarily at-
tends on fallen grandeui', it never experienced. Fallen
as it was, the affection and respect of men remained
attached to its memory. In Greece we -see something
which is not very common in histoiy : in the cities
where the royal family did not become extinct, not
only was it not expelled, but the same men who had
despoiled it of power continued to honor it. At
Ephesus, at Marseilles, at Cyi-ene, the royal family, de-
prived of power, remained surrounded, with the respect
of the people, and even retained the title and insignia
of royalty.?
' Strabo, IV. 171 ; XIV. 632 ; XIII. 608. Athenaus, XIII.
576.
CHAP. X. THE MAGISTEACT. 239
The people estafeKshed. republican institutions; but
the name of king, far from becoming a reproach, re-
mained a venerated title. It is customary to say that
this word was odious and despised. This is a singular
eri-or; the Romans applied it to the gods in their
prayers. If the usurpers dared, not assume this title, it
was not because it was odious, but rather because it
was sacred.' In Greece monarchy was many times
restored in the cities; but the new monarchs never
claimed the right toi be called kings, and were satisfied
to be called tyrants. What made the difference in
these names was not the more or fewer moral qualities
found in the sovereign. It was not the custom to call
a good prince Mng' and a bad one tyrant. Religion
was what distinguished one from the other; The prim-
itive kings had performed the duties of priests, and had
derived their anthoiity from the sacred fire ; the tyrants
of a later epoch were merely political chiefs, and owed
their elevation to force or election only.
CHAPTER X.
The Magistracy.
The union of the political authority and the priest-
hood in the same person did not cease with royalty.
The revolution which established the republican regime,
did not separate functions whose connection appeared
natural, and was then the fundamental law of human
society. The magistrate who replaced the king was,
' Sanctitas regunt, Suetonius, JuNua Oasar, 6. Livy, III.
S9v Ciceio, Bepul., I. 33.
240 THE CTTT. BOOK m
like him, a priest, and at the same time a political
chief.
Sometimes this annual magistrate bore the sacred
title of king.' In other places the title of prytane,^
which he retained, indicated his principal function.
In other cities the title of archon prevailed. At Thebes,
for example, the first magistrate was called by this
name ; but what Plutarch says of this office shows that
it differed little from the priesthood. This archon, dur-
ing his term of office, was required to wear a crown,'
as became a priest ; religion forbade him to let his hair
grow, or to carry any iron object upon his person — a
regulation which made him resemble the Roman flamen.
The city of Platsea also had an archon, and the religion
of this city required that, during his whole term of
office, he should be clothed in white * — that is to say,
in the sacred color.
The Athenian archons, when entering upon their
duty, ascended the Acropolis, their heads crowned with
myrtle, and offered a sacrifice to the divinity of the
city." It was also a custom for them, in the exercise
of their duty, to wear a crown of leaves upon their
heads." Now, it is certain that the crown, which in the
course of time became, and has remained, the symbol
of power, was then only a religious emblem, an ex-
terior sign, which accompanied prayer and sacrifice.'
' At Megara, at Samothrace. Livy, XLV. 5. Boeckli, Corp.
Inscr., 1052.
' Pindar, Nem., XI. ' Plutarch, Rom. Quest., 40.
•* Plutarch, Arisiides, 21.
" Tlmoydides, VHI. 70. ApoUodorus, Fragment, 21 (coll.
Didot).
* Demosthenes, in Meidiam, 33. Machines, in Timarch., 19.
' Plutarch, Nicias, 3 ; Phocion, 37. Cicero, in Verr., IV. 50.
CHAP. X. THB MAGISTEACT. 241
Among the nine archons the one called king was
especially a religious chief; but each of his colleagues
had some sacerdotal function to fulfil, some sacrifice to
offer to the gods.'
The Greeks had a general expression to designate
magistrates ; they said ot iv liXet, — which signified,
literally, those who are to accomplish the sacrifice ;°
an old expression, indicating the idea that was enter-
tained of the magistrate in early times. Pindar says
of these personages that, by the oflferings which they
make to the sacred fire, they assure the safety of the
city.
At Rome the first act of the consul was to offer a
sacrifice in the forum. Victims were brought to the
public square; when the pontiff had declared them
worthy of being offered,, the consul immolated them
with his own hand, while a herald enjoined a religious
silence upon the multitude, and a flute-player sounded
the sacred air.' A few days later, the consul repaired
to Laviniura, whence the Roman penates had come, and
offered another sacrifice.
When we examine the character of the magistrate
among the ancients with a little attention, we see
how slightly he resembles the chief of state of modern
societies. Priesthood, justice, and command are con-
founded in his person. He represents the city, which is
a religious association, as much, at least, as a political
one. He has in his handa the auispices,. the rites,
» Pollux, VIII. ch. IX. Lycurgus (coll. Didot), t. II. p. 362.
' Thucydides, I. 10; II. 10; III. 36; IV. 65. Comp. Herod-
otus, L 133; III. 18; ^schylus, Pers., 204; Agam., 1202;
Euripides, Track., 238.
" Cicero, De Lege Agr., II. 34. Llvy, XXI. 63. Macrobius,
III. 3.
16
242 THE CITY. BOOK IH.
prayer, the protection of the gods. A consul is some-
tiling more than a man; he is a mediator between man
and the divinity. To his fortune is attached the pub-
lic fortune; he is, as it were, the tutelary genius of the
city. The death of a consul is calamitous to the re-
public' When the consul Claudius Nero left his army
to fly to the succor of his colleague, Livy shows us
into how great alarm Rome was thrown for the fate
of this army ; this was because, deprived of its chief,
the army was at the same time deprived of its celestial
protection ; with the consul, the auspices have gone —
that is to say, religion and the gods.
The other Roman magistracies, which were, in a
certain sense, members successively detached from the
3onsulship, like tliat office, united sacerdotal and politi-
cal attributes. We have seen the censor, on certain
days, with a crown upon his head, offering a sacrifice in
the name of the city, and striking down a victim with
his own hand. The pretors and the curule ediles pre-
sided at religious festivals.^ There was no magistrate
who had not some sacred act to perform ; for, in the
minds of the ancients, all authority ought to have some
connection with religion. The tribunes of the people
were the only ones who had no sacrifice to offer; but
they were not counted among the real magistrates.
We shall see, farther along, that their authority was of
an entirely exceptional nature.
The sacerdotal character belonging to the magis-
trate is shown, above all, in the manner of his election.
In the eyes of the ancients the votes of men were not
sufiScient to establish the ruler of a city. So long as
' Livy, XXVII. 40.
» Varro, L. L. VI. 54. Athenteua, XIV. 79.
CHAP. X. THE MAGISTEACT. 243
the primitive royalty lasted, it apjieared natural that
this ruler should be designated by birth, by virtue of
the religious law which prescribed that the son should
succeed the father in every priestly office; birth
seemed sufficiently to reveal the will of the gods.
When revolutions had everywhere suppressed this roy-
alty, men appear to have sought, in the place of birth,
a mode of election which the gods might not have to
disavow. The Athenians, like many Greek peoples,
saw no better way than to draw lots; but we must not
form a wrong idea of this procedure, which has been
made a subject of reproach against the Athenian de-
mocracy ; and for this reason it is necessary that we
attempt to penetrate the view of the ancients on this
point. For them the lot was not chance ; it was the
revelation of the divine will. Just as they had re-
course to it in the temples to discover the secrets of the
gods, so the city had recourse to it for the choice of its
magistrate. It was believed that the gods designated
the most worthy by making his name leap out of the
urn. This was the opinion of Plato himself, who says,
"He on whom the lot falls is the ruler, and is dear to
the gods ; and this we affirm to be quite just. The
officers of the temple shall be appointe d by lot ; in this
way their election will be committed to God, who will
do what is agreeable to him." The city believed that in
this manner it received its magistrates from the gods."
• Plato, Laws, III. 690; VI. 759. Comp. Demetrius Phale-
reus, Fragm., 4. It is surprising that modern historians rep-
resent the drawing of lots as an invention of the Athenian
democracy. It was, on the contrary, in full rigor under the rule
of the aristocracy (Plutarch, Pericles, 9), and appears to have
been as old as the archonship itself. Kor is it a democratic
procedure : we know, indeed, that even in the time of Lysias
2474 THB CITY. BOOK HI.
AjGTairs are substantially the same at Rome. The
designation of a consul did not belong to men. The
will or the caprice of the people could not legitimately
create a magistrate. This, therefore, was the manner
in which the consul was chosen. A magistrate in
charge — that is to say, a man already in possession of
the sacred character and of the auspices — indicated
among the dies fasti the one on which the consul
ought to be named. Dui-ing the night which preceded
this day, he watched in the open air, his eyes fixed
upon the heavens, observing the signs which the gods
sent, whilst he pronounced mentally the name of some
candidate for the magistracy.* If the presages were
favorable, it was because the gods accepted the candi-
date. The next day the people assembled in the Cam-
^s Martins ; the same oue who had consulted the
gods presided at the assembly. He pi'onounced in a
loud voice the names of the candidates concerning
whom he had taken the auspices. If among those who
and of Demosthenes, the names of all the citizens were not put
in the urn (Lysias, Orat., de Invalido, c. 13 ; in Andocidem, c.
4) : for a still stronger reason was this true when the Eupatrids
only, or the Fentakosiomedimni could be archons. Passages of
Plato show clearly what idea the ancients had of the drawing of
lots ; the thought which caused it to be employed for magistrate-
priests like the archons, or for senators charged with holy duties
like the prytanes, was a religious idea, and not a notion of equal-
ity. It is worthy of remark, that when the democracy gained
the upper hand, it reserved the selection by lot for the choice
of archons, to whom it left no real power, and gave it up in the
choice of strategi, who then had the true authority. So that
there was drawing of lots for magistracies which dated from the
aristocratic age, and election for those that dated from the age
pf the democracy.
' Valerius Maximus, I. 1, 3. Plutarch, MarceUvs, 6.
CHAP. X. THE MAGISTEACT. 245
sought the consulship there was one for whom the
auspices had not been fatorable, his name was omitted.'
The people voted upon those names only which had
been pronounced by the president." If the president
named but two candidates, the people necessarily
voted for them; if lie named three, they chose two of
them. The assembly never had the right to vote for
other men than those wliom the president had desig-
nated ; for the auspices had been for those only, and
for those only had the consent of the gods been as-
sured.
This mode of election, which was scrupulously follow-
ed in the first ages of th« republic, explains some pecu-
liarities of Roman history which at first surprise us. We
see, for example, that quite frequently the people are
unanimous for two men for the consulshij , and still
they are not elected. This is because tht president
has not taken the auspices eoncerning these two men,
or the auspices have not been favorable. On the other
hand, we have seen the people elect to the consulship
men whom they detested.' This was because the pres-
ident pronounced only these two names. It was abso-
lutely necessary to Vote for them, for the vote was not
expressed by "yes" or "no;" every vote was required
to contain two names, and none could be written ex-
cept those that had been designated. The people,
when candidates were presented who were odious to
them, could indeed show their displeasure by retiring
without a vote ; but there always remained in the en-
closure citizens enough to make up a quorum.
» Livy, XXXIX. 39. Velleius, II. 92. Valerius Maxiir.us,
III. 8, 3.
' Dionysius, IV. 84; V. 19; V. 72; V. 77; VI. 49.
' Livy, II. 42 ; II. 43.
246 THE CITY. BOOK m.
Here we see how great was the power of the presi-
dent of the comitia, and we no longer wonder at the
expression, Creat consules, which referred not to the
people, but to the president of the comitia. It was
of him, indeed, rather than of the people, that it might
be said, "He creates the consuls;" for he was the one
who discovered the will of the gods. If he did not cre-
ate the consuls, it was at least through him that the
gods created them. The power of the people went no
farther than to ratify the election, or, at most, to se-
lect among three or four names, if the auspices had
been equally favorable to three or four candidates.
Doubtless this method of procedure was very advan-
tageous to the Roman aristocracy ; but we should
deceive ourselves if we saw in all this merely A ruse
invented by them. Such a ruse was never thought of
in the ages when they believed in this religion. Politi-
cally it was useless in the first ages, since at that time
the patricians had a majority in voting. It might even
have turned against them, by investing a single man
with exorbitant power. The only explanation that can
be given of this custom, or, rather, . of these rites of
election, is, that every one then sincerely believed that
the choice of the magistrates belonged, not to the peo-
ple, but to the gods. The man in whose hands the
religion and the fortune of the city were to be placed,
ought to be revealed by the divine voice.
The first rule for the election of a magistrate is the
one given by Cicero: "That he be named accord-
ing to the rites." If, several months afterwards, the
senate was told that some rite had been neglected, or
badly performed, it ordered the consuls to abdicate,
and they obeyed. The examples are very numerous ;
and if, in case of two or three of them, v/e may believe
CHAP. X. THE MAGISTRACY. 247
that the senate was very glad to be rid of an ill-qual-
ified or ill-intentioned consul, the greater part of the
time, on the contrary, we cannot impute other motives
to them than religious scruples.
When the lot or the auspices had designated an
nrchon or a consul, there was, it is true, a sort of proof
by which the merits of the newly-elected officer were
examined. But even this will show us what ihe city
wished to find in its magistrate; and we shall see that
it sought not the most courageous warrior, not the
ablest and most upright man in peace, but the one
best loved by the gods. Indeed, the Athenian senate
inquired of the magistrate elect if he had any bodily
defect, if he possessed a domestic god, if his family
had always been faithful to his worship,' if he himself
had always fulfilled his duties towards the dead.' Why
these questions ? Because a bodily defect — a sign of
the anger of the gods — rendered a man unfit to fill
any priestly office, and consequently to exercise any
magistracy; because he who had no family worship
ought not to have a national worship, and was not
qualified to offer the sacrifices in the name of the city;
because, if his family had not always been faithful to
his worship, — that is to say, if one of his ancestors had
committed one of those acts which affect religion, — the
hearth was forever contaminated, and the descendants
were detested by the gods ; finally, because, if he him-
self had neglected the tomb of his dead, he was ex-
posed to their dangerous anger, and was pursued by
invisible enemies. The city would have been very
daring to have confided its fortunes to such a man.
' Plato, Laws, VI. Xenophon, Sfem., II. Pollux, VIII. S5,
86, 95
248 THE CITY. BOOK III.
These are the principal questions that were addressed
to one who was about to become a magistrate. It
appeared that nien did not trouble themselves about
his character or his knowledge. They tried especially
to assure themselves that he was qualified for the priest-
ly office, and that the religion of the city would not be
compromised in his hands.
This sort of examination was also in use at Home.
We have not, it is true, any information as to the ques-
tions which the consul was required to answer. Bat
it is. enough to know that this examination was made
by the pontiffs,'
CHAPTER XI.
The Law.
Amokg the Greeks and Romans, as among the Hin-
dus, law was at first a part of religion. The ancient
codes of the cities were a colleetion of rites, liturgical
directions, and prayers, joined with legislative regula-
tions. The laws concerning property and those con-
cerning succession were scattered about in the midst
of rules for sacrifices, for bui'ia,l, and for the worship of
the duad.
What remains to us of the oldest laws of Rome,
which were called the Royal Laws, relates as often to
the worship as to the relations of civil life. One for-
bade a guilty woman to approach the altai-s; another
forbade certain dishes to be served in the sacred re-
pasts; a third prescribed what religious ceremony a
' Dionysias, II. 73.
(IHAP. XI. THE LAW. 249
victorious general ought to perform on re-entering the
city. The code of the Twelve Tables, although more
recent, still contain minute regulations concerning the
religious rites of sepulture. The work of Solon was
at the same time a code, a constitution, and a ritual ; it
regulated the order of sacrifices, and the price of vic-
tims, as well as the maniage rites and the worship of
the dead.
Cicero, in his Laws, traces a plan of legislation which
is not entirely imaginary. In the substance as in the
form of bis code, he imitates the ancient legislators.
Now, these are the first laws that he writes : " Let men
approach the gods with purity ; let the temples of the
ancestors and the dwelling of the Lares be kept up;
let the priests employ in the sacred repasts only the
prescribed kinds of food ; let every one offer to the
Manes the worship that is due them." Assuredly the
Roman philosopher troubled himself little about the old
religion of the Lares and Manes ; but he was tracing a
code in imitation of the nncient codes, and he believed
himself bound to insert rules of worship.
At Rome it was a recognized truth that no one could
be a good pontiff who did not know the law, and, con-
versely, that no one could know the law if he did not
understand questions relating to religion. The pon-
tiffs were for a long time the only jurisconsults. As
there was hardly an act of life which had not some
relation to religion, it followed that almost everything
was submitted to the decision of these priests, and
that they were the only competent judges in an infinite
number of cases. All disputes regarding marriage,
divorce, and the civil and religious rights of infants,
were carried to their tribunal. They were judges in
cases of incest as well as of celibacy. As adoption
250 THE CITY. BOOK III.
affected religion, it could not take place without the
consent of the pontiff. To make a will was to break
the order that religion had established for the trans-
mission of property and of the worship. The will,
therefore, in the beginning, required to be authorized
by the pontiff. As the limits of every man's land were
established by religion, whenever two neighbors had a
dispute about boundaries, they had to plead before the
priests called fratres arvales. This explains why the
same men were pontiffs and jurists — law and reli^on
were but one.'
At Athens the archon and the king had very nearly
the same judicial functions as the Roman pontiff."
The origin of ancient laws appears clearly. ISo man
invented them. Solon, Lycui-gus, Minos, Numa, might
have reduced the laws of their cities to writing, but they
could not have made them. If we understand by legis-
lator a man who creates a code by the power of Jiis
genius, and who imposes it upon other men, this legisla-
tor never existed among the ancients. Nor did ancient
law originate with the votes of the people. The idea
that a certain number of votes might make a law did not
appear in the cities till very late, and only after two
revolutions had transformed them. Up to that time
laws had appeared to men as something ancient, im-
mutable, and venerable. As old as the city itself, the
founder had established them at the same time that he
' Hence this old definition, wiiich the jurisconsults pre-
served even to Justinian's time — Jurisprudentia est reriim
divinarum atgve humanarum notiiia. Cf. Cicero, De Legib.
II. 9; II. 19; DeArusp.Eesp.,7. Dionysius, II. 73. Tacitus
Ann., I. 10; Hist., I. 15. Dion Cassius, XLVIII. 44. Pliny,
N. H., XVIII. 2. Aulus Gellius, V. 19; XV. 27.
» Pollux, VIII. 90.
CHAP. XI. THE LAW. 251
established the heai-th — moresque viris et mcenia
ponit. He instituted them at the same time that he
instituted the religion. Still it could not be said that
he had prepnred them himself. Who, then, was the
true author of them V When we spoke above of the
organization of the family, and of the Greek and Ro-
man laws which regulated property, succession, wills,
and adoption, we observed how exactly these laws cor
responded to the beliefs of ancient generations. If we
compare these laws with natural equity, we often find
them opposed to it, and we can easily see that it was
not in the notion of absolute right and in the sentiment
of justice, that they were sought for. But place these
laws by the side of the worship of the dead and of the
sacred fire, compare them with the rules of this primi-
tive religion, and they appear in perfect accord with
all this.
Man did not need to study his conscience and say,
" This is just ; this is unjust." Ancient law was not
produced in this way. But man believed that the
sacred hearth, in virtue of the religious law, passed from
father to son ; from this it followed tliat the house was
hereditary property. The man who had buried his fa-
ther in his field believed that the spirit of the dead one
took possession of this field forever, and required a
perpetual worship of his posterity. As a result of this,
the field, the domain of the dead, and place of sacrifice,
became the inalienable property of a family. Religion
said, "The son continues the worship — not the daugh-
ter ; " and the law said, with the religion, " The son
inherits — the daughter does not inherit.; the nephew
by the males inherits, but not the nephew on the female
side." This was the manner in which the laws were
made ; they presented themselves without being sought.
252 THE CITY. BOOK in.
They were the direct and necessary consequence of
the belief; they were religion itself applied to the re-
lations of men among themselves.
The ancients said their laws came from the gods.
The Cretans attributed their laws, not to Minos, but
to Jupiter. The Lacedaemonians believed that their
legislator was not Lycurgus, but Apollo. The Romans
believed that Nuraa wrote under the dictation of one
of the most powerful divinities of ancient Italy — the
goddess Egeria. The Etruscans had received their
laws from the god Tages. There is truth in all these
traditions. The veritable legislator among the ancients
was not a man, but the religious belief which men en-
tertained.
The laws long remained sacred. Even at the time
when it was admitted that the will of a man or the
votes of a people might make a law, it was still neccs-
essary that religion should be consulted, and at least
that its consent should be obtained. At Rome it was
not believed that a unanimous vote was sufficient to
make a law binding ; the decision of the people re-
quired to be ratified by the pontiffs, and the augurs
were required to attest that the gods were favorable
to the proposed law.'
One day, when the tribunes of the people wished to
have a law adopted by the assembly of the tribes, a
patrician said to them, "What right have you to make
a new law, or to touch existing laws? You, who have
not the auspices, you, who, in your assemblies, perform
no religious acts, what have you in common with reli-
gion and sacred things, among which must be reckoned
the laws?"'
> Dionysius, IX. 41 ; IX. 49.
' Dionysius, X. 4. Livy, III. 31.
CHAP. XI. THE LAW. 253
From this we can understand the respect and at-
tachment which the anQienta long had for their laws.
In them they saw no human work, but one whose
origin was holy. It was no vain word when Plato said,
" To obey the laws is to obey the gods." He does no
more than to express the Greek idea, when, in Crito,
he exhibits Socrates giving his life because the laws
demanded it of him. Before Socrates, there was writ-
ten upon the rock of Thermopylae, "Passer-by, go and
tell Sparta that we lie here in obedience to its laws."
The law among the ancients was always holy, and iu
the time of royalty it was the queen of the kings. Iu
the time of the republic it was the queen of the peo-
ple. To disobey it was sacrilege.
In principle the laws were immutable, since they
were divine. It is. worthy of remark that they were
never abrogated. Men could indeed make new ones,
but old ones still remained, however they might conflict
with the new ones. The code of Draco was not abol-
ished by that of Soloa; ' nor were the Royal Laws by
those of the Twelve Tables. The stone on which the
laws were engraved was inviolable ; or, at most, the
least scrupulous only thought themselves permitted
to tm-n it round. This principle was the great cause
of the confusion which is observable among ancient
laws.
Contradictory laws and those of different epochs
were found together, and all claimed i-espect. In an
oration of Isjeus we find two men contesting an inher-
itance; each quotes a law in his fiivor; the two laws
are absolute contraries, and are equally sacred. In the
same manner the code of Manu preserves the ancient
' Apdocides, I. 82, 83. Demosthenes, in Sverg.,, 71
254 THE CITY, BOOK m.
law which establishes primogenituve, and has another
by the side of it which enjoins an equal division among
the brothers.
The ancient law never gave any reasons. Why
should it ? It was not bound to give them ; it existed
because the gods had made it. It was not discussed
— it was imposed ; it was a work of authority ; men
obeyed it because they had faith in it.
During long generations the laws were not written;
they were transmitted from father to son, with the
creed and the formula of prayer. They were a sacred
tradition, which was perpetuated around the family
hearth, or the hearth of the city.
The day on which men began to commit them to
writing, they consigned them to the sacred books, to
the rituals, among prayers and ceremonies. Varro cites
an ancient law of the city of Tusculum, and adds that
he read it in the sacred books of that city.' Dionysius
of Halicarnassus, who had consulted the original docu-
ments, says that before the time of the Decemvirs all
the written laws at Rome were to be found in the books
of the priests.* Later the laws were removed from the
rituals, and were written by themselves ; but the cus-
tom of depositing them in a temple continued, and
priests had the cai'e of them.
Written or unwritten, these laws were always formu-
lated into very brief sentences, which may be com-
pared in form to the verses of Leviticus, or the slocas
of the book of Manu. It is quite probable, even, that
the laws were rhythimical.' According to Aristotle,
before the laws were written, they were sung.* Traces
' Varro, L.L., VI. 16. » Dionysius, X. 1.
' ffilian, F. B., II. 39. ■• Aristotle, Prohl., XIX. 28.
CHAP. XT. THE LAW. 255
of this custom have remained in language; the Ro-
mans called Ibe laws carmina — verses ; the Greeks said
vAfioi — songs.'
These ancient verses were invariable texts. To
change a letter of them, to displace a word, to alter
the rhythm, was to destroy the law itself, by destroy-
ing the sacred form under which it was revealed to
man. The law was like prayer, which was agreeable
to the divinity only on condition that it was recited
correctly, and which became impious if a single word
in it was changed. In primitive law, the exterior, the
letter, is everything ; there is no need of seeking the
sense or spirit of it. The value of the law is not in
the moral principle that it contains, but in the words
that make up tlie formula. Its force is in the sacred
words that compose it.
Among the ancients, and especially at Rome, the
idea of law was inseparably connected with certain
sacramental words. If, for example, it was a question
of contract, one was expected to say, Dari spondes f •
and the other was expected to reply, Spondeo. If these
words were not pronounced, there was no contract. In
-vain the creditor came to demand payment of the debt
— the debtor owed nothing ; for what placed a man un-
der obligation in this ancient law was not conscience,
or the sentiment of justice; it was the sacred formula.
When this formula was pronounced between two men,
it established between them a legal obligation. Where
there was no formula, the obligation did not exist.
The strange forms of ancient Roman legal procedure
' Nifim, to divide; rifiog, division, measure, rhythm, song.
See Plutarch, -De Musica, p. 1133; Pindar, Pyth., XII. 41-
fragm. , 190 (Edit. Hey ne) . Scholiast on Aristophanes, Knights,
9 ; Ni'iftoi xaX.uivTai of ilt 6tout Vfiroi,
256 THE CITY. BOOK IH,
woald not surprise us if we but recollected that an-
cient law was a religion, a sacred text, and justice a col-
lection of rites. The plaintiff pursues with the law —
agit lege. By the text of the law he seizes his adver-
sary: but let him be on his guard ; to have the law on
his side, he must know its terms, and pronounce them
exactly. If he speaks one word for another, the law
exists no longer for him, and cannot defend bira.
Gains gives an account of a man whose vines had been
cut by his neighbor ; the fact was settled ; he pronounced
the law. But the law said trees ; he pronounced vines,
and lost his case.
Repeating the law was not sufficient. There was
also needed an accompaniment of exterior signs,
which were, so to say, the rites of this religious cere-
mony called a contract, or a case in law. For this
reason at every sale the little piece of copper and
the balance were employed. To buy an article, it was
necessary to touch it with the hand — mancipatio ; and
.if there was a dispute about a piece of property, there
was a feigned combat — manuum consertio. Hence were
derived the forms of liberation, those of emancipation,
those of a legal action, and all the pantomime of legal
procedure.
As law was a part of teligion, it participated in the
mysterious character of all this religion of the cities.
The legal formulas, like those of religion, were kept se-
cret. They were concealed from the stranger, and even
from the plebeian. This was not because the patricians
had calculated that they should possess a great power
in the exclusive knowledge of the law, but because the
la<w, by its origin and nature, long appeared to be a
mystery, to which one could be initiated only after
having first been initiated into the national worship
and the domestic worship.
CH'i.P. XI. THE LAW. 257
The religious origin of ancient law also explains to
us one of the principal characteristics of this law. Re-
ligion was purely civil, that is to say, peculiar to each
city. There could flow from it, therefore, only a civil
law. But it is necessary to distinguish the sense which
this word had among the ancients. When they said
that the law was civil, — jus civile, v6/iot nolnixol, — tliey
did not understand simply that every city had its code,
as in our day every state has a code. They meant
that their laws had no force, or power, except between
the members of the same city. To live in a city did
not make one subject to its laws and place him under
their protection ; one had to be a citizen. The law
did not exist for the slave ; no more did it exist for
the stranger.
We shall see, further along, that the stranger domi-
ciled in a city could be neither a proprietor there, nor
an heir, nor a testator ; he could not make a contract
of any sort, or appear before the ordinary tribunals of
the citizens. At Athens, if he happened to be the
creditor of a citizen, he could not sue him in the courts
for the payment of the debt, as the law recognized no
contract as valid for him.
These provisions of ancient law were perfectly logi-
cal. Law was not born of the idea of justice, but of
religion, and was not conceived as going beyond it.
In order that there should be a legal relation between
two men, it was necessary that there should already
exist a religious relation; that is to say, that they
should worship at the same hearth and have the same
sacrifices. When this religious community did not
exist, it did not seem that there could be any legal re-
lation. Now, neither the stranger nor the slave had
any part in the religion of the city. A foreigner and a
17
258 THE CITY. BOOK IH.
citizen might live side by side during long years, with-
out one's thinking of the possibility of a legal relation
being established between them. Law was nothing
more than one phase of religion. Where there was no
common religion, there was no common law.
CHAPTER XII.
The Citizen and the Stranger.
The citizen was recognized by the fact that he had
la part in the religion of the city, and it was from this
participation that he derived all his civil and political
I ights. If he renounced the worship, he renounced the
rights. We have ab'eady spoken of the public meals,
which were the principal ceremony of the national wor-
ship. "How, at Sparta, one who did not join in these,
even if it was not his fault, ceased at once to be count-
id among the citizens.' At Athens, one who did not
take part iu the festivals of the national gods lost the
rights of a citizen.^ At Rome, it was necessary to have
been present at the sacred ceremony of the lustration,
in order to enjoy political rights.' The man who had
not taken part in this — that is to say, who had not
joined in the common prayer and the sacrifice — lost
his citizenship until the. next lustration.
' Aristotle, PolUics, II. 6, 21 (II. 7).
' Boeckh, Corp. Inscr., 3641, 6.
' VelleiuS, II. 15. Soldiers on » campaign were excepted;
but tlie censor was required to liare their names taken, so that,
having been registered in the ceremony, they were considered
as present.
CHAP. Xli. THE CITIZBlf AND THE STEANGEE. 259
If we wished to give an exact definition of a citizen,
we should say that it was a man who had the religion
of the city." The stranger^ on the contrary, is one who
has not access to the worship, one whom the gods of V
the city do not protect, and who has not even the right
to invoke them. For these national gods do not wish trt
receive prayers and oiBEering except from citizens ; they
repulse the stranger; entrance into their temples is for-
bidden to him, and his presence during the sacrifice is a
Sacrilege. Evidence of this ancient sentiraetit of repul-
sion has i-emained in one of the principal rites of Roman
worship. The pontifij when he sacrifices in the open
air, must have his head veiled : " For before the sacred
fires in the religions act which is ofifered to the national
gods, the face of a stranger must not appear to the
pontiff; the auspices would be disturbed."* A sacred
object which fell for a moment into the hands of a
stranger at once became profane. It could not recovei
ks religious character except by an expiatory ceremo-
ny.' If the enemy seized upon a city, and the citizens
succeeded in recovering it, above all things it was im-
portant that the temples should be purified and all the
fires extinguished and rekindled. The presence of the
stranger had defiled them.''
Thus religion established between the citizen and the
stranger a profound and ineffaceable distinction. This
' Demosthenes, in NecBram, 113, 114. Being a citizen was
called, in Greek, avmXw', tliiit is. to say, malting the sacrifice
together, Or ^ursivat Hqviv xul ooitov,
* Virgil, ^n., III. 406. Festus, v. Exesto : Lictor in qui-
hiisdam sacris elamitabat, hostis exesto. Hostis, as we know,
meant stranger (^Macrobius I. 17) ; hostilis fades, in Virgil,
means the face of a stranger.
' Digest, XI. tit. 6, 36.
* Plutarch, Arisiides, 20. Livy, V. 50.
260 THE CITY. BOOK HI.
same religion, so long as it held its sway over the
minds of men, forbade the right of citizenship to be
granted to a stranger. In the time of Herodotus,
Sparta had accorded it to no one except a prophet;
and even for this the formal command of the oracle
was necessary. Athens granted it sometimes; but
with what precautions ! First, it was necessary that
the united people should vote by secret ballot for the
admission of the stranger. Even this was nothing as
yet ; nine days afterwards a second assembly had to
confirm the previous vote, and in this second case six
thousand votes were required in favor of the admis-
sion — a number which will appear enormous when we
recollect that it was very rare for an Athenian assem-
bly to comprise so many citizens. After this a vote of
the senate was required to confirm the decision of this
double assembly. Finally, any citizen could oppose a
sort of veto, and attack the decree as contrary to the
ancient laws. Certainly there was no other public act
where the legislator was surrounded with so many dif-
ficulties and precautions as that which conferred upon
a stranger the title of citizen. The formalities to go
through were not near so great in declaring war, or in
passing a new law. Why should these men oppose so
many obstacles to a stranger who wished to become a
citizen? Assuredly they did not fear that in the po-
litical assemblies his vote would turn the balance.
Demosthenes gives us the true motive and the true
thought of the Athenians : " It is because the purity
of the sacrifices must be preserved." To exclude the
stranger was to " watch over the sacred ceremonies."
To admit a stranger among the citizens was "to give
him a part in the religion and in the sacrifices." ' Now,
' Demosthenes, in Necsram, 89, 91, 92, 113, 114.
CHAP. XII. THE CITIZBK AND THE STBANGEE. 261
for such an act the people did not consider themselves
untirely free, and were seized with religious scruples;
for they knew that the national gods were disposed to
repulse the stranger, and that the sacrifices would per-
haps be rendered useless by the presence of the new
comer. The gift of the rights of a citizen to a stranger
was a real violation of the fundamental principles of
the national religion ; and it is for this reason that, in
the beginning, the city was so sparing of it. We must
also note that the man admitted to citizenship with so
much difficulty could be neither archon nor priest.
The city, indeed, permitted him to take part in its
worship, but' as to presiding at it, that would have
been too much.
No one could become a citizen at Athens if he was a
citizen in another city ; ' for it was a religious impos-
sibility to be at the same time a member of two cities,
as it also was to be a member of two families. One
could not have two religions at the same time.
The participation in the worship carried with it the
possession of rights. As the citizen might assist in the
sacrifice which preceded the assembly, he could also
vote at the assembly. As he could perform the sacri-
fices in the name of the city, he might be a prytane
and- an archon. Having the religion of the city, he
might claim rights under its laws, and perform all the
ceremonies of legal procedure.
The stranger, on the contrary, having no part in the
religion, had none in the law. If he entered the sacred
enclosure which the priests had traced for the assem-
bly, he was punished with death. The laws of the
city did not exist for him. If he had committed a
' Plutarch, Solon, 24. Cicero, P7-o Qacina, 34.
VK
262 THE CITY. BOOK III.
crime, he was treated as a slave, and punished without
process of law, the city owing him no legal protection.'
When men arrived at that stage that they felt the need
of havmg laws for the stranger, it was necessary to
establish an exceptional tribunal. At Rome, in order
to judge the alien, the pretor had to become an alien
himself — prcetor peregrinus. At Athens the judge
of foreigners was the polemaich — that is to say, the
magistrate who was charged with the cares of war, and
of all transactions with the enemy.'
Neither at Rome nor at Athens could a foreigner be
a proprietor.' He could not marry; or, if he married,
his marriage was not recognized, and his children were
reputed illegitimiite.'' lie could not make a contract
with a citizen ; at any rate, the law did not recognize
such a contract as valid. At first he could take no
part in commerce.* The Roman law forbade him to
inherit from a cilizen, and even forbade a citizen to in-
herit from him." They pushed this principle so far,
that if a foreigner obtained the rights of a citizen with
out his son, born before this event, obtaining the same
favor, the son became a foreigner in regard to his
father, and could not inherit from him.'' The distinc-
tion between citizen and foreigner was stronger than
the natural tie between father and son.
At first blush it would seem as if the aim had been
' Aristotle, Politics, III. 1, 3. Plato, Laws, VI.
' Demosthenes, in Neasram, i9. Lysias, in Pancleonem.
' Gaius, fr. 234.
* Gaius, I. 67. TJlpian, V. 4-9. Paulug, 11. 9. Aristophanes,
Birds, 1652.
° Ulpian, XIX. 4. Demosthenes, Pro Phorm.; i,i Eubul.
° Cicero, Pro Archia, 5. Gaius, II. 110.
' Pausijmas, VIII. 43.
CHAP. XII. THE CITIZEN AND THE STRANGER. 263
to establish a system that should be vexatious towards
foreigners ; but there was nothing of this. Athens and
Rome, on the contrary, gave him a good reception, both
for commercial and political reasons. But neither their
good will nor their interest could abolish the ancient
laws which religion had established. This i-eligion did
not permit the stranger to become a proprietor, because
he could not have any part in the religious soil of the
city. It permitted neither the foreigner to inherit from
the citizen, nor the citizen to inherit from the foreigner;
because every transmission of property carried with it
the transmission of a worship, and it was as impossible
for the citizen to perform the foreigner's worship as for
the foi'eigner to perform the citizen's.
Citizens could welcome the foreigner, watch over
him, even esteem him if he was rich and honorable;
but they could give him no part in their religion or
their laws. The slave in certain respects was better
treated than he was, because the slave, being a member
of the family whose worship he shared, was connected
with the city through his master ; the gods protected
him. The Roman religion taught, therefore, that the
tomb of the slave was sacred^ but that the foi-feigner's
was not.'
A foreigner, to be of any account in the eyes of the
law, to be enabled to engage in trade, to make con-
tracts, to enjoy his property securely, to have the benefit
of the laws of the city to protect him, must become the
client of a citizen. Rome and Athens required every
foreigner to adopt a patron.'' By choosing a citizen as
a patron the foreigner became connected with the city.
' Digest, XI. tit. 7, 2; XLVJI. tit. 12, 4.
• HarpocratiODi, TtQoerax^q.
264 THE CITY. BOOK III.
Thenceforth he participated in some of the benefits of
the civil law, and its protection was secured.
CHAPTER XIII.
Patriotism. Exile.
The word country, among the ancients, signified the
land of the fathers, terra patria — fatherland. The
fatherland of every man was that part of the soil which
his domestic or national religion had sanctified, the
land where the rerar.itis of his ancestors were deposited,
and which their souls occupied. His little fatherland
was the family enclosure with its tomb and its hearth.
The great fatherland was the city, with its prytaneum
and its heroes, with its sacred enclosure and its terri-
tory marked out by religion. " Sacred fatherland " the
Greeks called it. Nor was it a vain word ; this soil
was, indeed, sacred to man, for his gods dwelt there.
State, city, fatherland : these words were no abstraction,
as they are among the moderns ; they really represented
a group of local divinities, with a daily worship and
beliefs that had a powerful influence over the soul.
This explains the patriotism of the ancients — an en-
ergetic sentiment, which, for them, was the supreme
virtue to which all other virtues tended. Whatever
man held most dear was associated with the idea of
country. In it he found his property his security, his
laws, his faith, his god. Losing it he lost everything.
It was almost impossible that private and public in-
terests could conflict. Plato says, " Our country begets
us, nourishes us, educates us ; " and Sophocles says,
"It is our country that preserves us."
CHAP. XIII. PATRIOTISM. 265
Such a country is not simply a dwelling-place for
man. Let him leave its sacred walls, let him pass the
sacred limits of its territory, and he no longer finds for
himself either a religion or a social tie of any kind.
Everywhere else, except in his own country, he is out-
side the regular life and the law; everywhere else he
is without a god, and shut out from all moral life.
There alone he enjoys his dignity as a man, and his
duties. Only there can he be a man.
Country holds man attached to it by a sacred tie.
He must love it as he loves his religion, obey it as he
obeys a god. He must give himself to it entirely. Ho
must love his country, whether it is glorious or obscure,
prosperous or unfortunate. He must love it for its
favors, and love it also for its severity. Socrates, un-
justly condemned by it, must not love it the less. He
must love it as Abraham loved his God, even to sacri-
ficing his son for it. Above all, one must know how to
die for it. The Greek or Roman rarely dies on account
of his devotion to a man, or for a point of honor ; but
to his country he owes his life. For, if his country is
attacked, his religion is attacked. He fights literally
for his altars and his fires, j)ro aris et focis ; for if the
enemy takes his city, his altars are overturned, his fires
are extinguished, his tombs are profaned, his gods are
destroyed, his worship is effaced. I The piety of the
ancients was love of country. |
The possession of a country was very precious, for
the ancients imagined few chastisements more cruel
than to be deprived of it. The ordinary punishment
of great crimes was exile.
Exile was really the interdiction of worship. To
exile a man was, according to the formula used both
by the Greeks and the Romans, to cut him off from
266 THE CITT. BOOK m,
both fire and water.' By this fire we are to understand
the sacred fire of the health ; by this water the lustral
water which served for the sacrifices. Exile, therefore,
placed man beyond the reach of religion. "Let him
flee," were the words of the sentence, " nor ever ap-
proach the temples. Let no citizen speak to or receive
him ; let no one admit him to the prayers or the sacri-
fices ; let no one ofier the lustral water." ' Every house
was defiled by his presence. The man who received
him became impure by his touch. "Any one who shall
have eaten or draiik with him, or who shall have
touched him," said the law, " should puiify hiraselt!."
Under the ban of this excommunication the exile could
take pai-t in no religious ceremony ; he no longer had
a worship, sacred repatts, or prayers; he was disin-
herited of his portion of religion.
We can easily understand that, for the ancients, God
was not everywhere. If they had some vague idea of
a God of the universe, this was not the one whom they
considered as their providence, and whom they invoked.
Every man's gods were those who inhabited his house,
his canton, his city. The exile, on leaving liis country
behind him, also left his gods. He no longer fband
a religion that could console and protect him ; he no
longer felt that providence was watching over him ;
the happiness of praying was taken away. All that
could satisfy the needs of his soul was far away.
Ifow, religion was the source whence flowed civil
and political rights. The exile, therefore, lost all this
in losing his religion and country. Excluded from the
city worship, he saw at the same time his domestic
' Herodotus, VII. 231. Cvatimxs, in Aihenaus, XI. 3. Cicero,
Pro Domo, 20. Livy, XXV. 4. Ulpian, X. 3.
* Sophocles, (Edipus Bex, 239. Plato, Laws, IX. 881.
CHAP. xm. EXILE. 267
■worship taken from him, and was forced to extinguish
his hearth-fire.' He could no longer hold property ; his
goods, as if he was dead, passed to his children, unless
they were confiscated to the profit of the gods or of the
state.'' Having no longer a worship, be had no longer a
family; he ceased to be a husband and a father. His
sons were no longer in his power;' his wife was no
longer his wife,* and might immediately take another
husbaad. Regulus, when a prisoner of the enemy, the
Roman law looked upon as an exile ; if the senate asked
his opinion, he refused to give it, because an exile was
no longer a senator j if his wife and children ran to him,
he repulsed their embraces, because for an exile there
were no longer wife and children, —
" Fertur pudicse conjugis osculum
Parvosqne natos, ut capitis minor,
A se removisse." *
" The exile," says Xenophon, " loses home, liberty,
country, wife, and children." When he dies, he has
not the right to, be buried in the toinb of his family,
for he is. an alien.'
It is not surprising that the ancient republics almost
all permitted a convict to escape death b^ flight. Exile
did not seem ta be a milder punishmeni than death.
The Roman jurists called it ca,pital punishment.
' Ovid, Trist., I. 3, 43.
' Pindar, Pyih., IV. 517. Plato, Laws, IX. 877. Diodorus,
XIII. 49. Dionysius, XI. 46. Livy, III. 58.
^ Insiituies of Justini7,n, I. 12. Gaius, I. 128.
" Dionysius, VIII. 41 .
' Horase^ Qde^, III. " Thucydides, I. 138.
268 THE CITY. BOOK in.
CHAPTER XIV.
The Mnuicipal Spirit,
What we have already seen of ancient institntions,
and above all of ancient beliefs, has enabled ns to obtain
an idea of the profound gulf which always separated
two cities. However near they might be to each other,
they always formed two completely separate societies.
Between them there was much more than the distance
which separates two cities to-day, much more than the
frontier which separates two states ; their gods were
not the same, or their ceremonies, or their prayers.
The worship of one city was forbidden to men of a
neighboring city. The belief was, that the gods of
one city rejected the homage and prayers of any one
who was not their own citizen.
These ancient beliefs, it is true, were modified and
softened in the course of time ; but they had been in
their full vigor at the time when these societies were
formed, and these societies always preserved the im-
pression of them.
Two facts we can easily underatand : first, that this
religion, peculiar to each city, must have established
the city in a very strong and almost unchangeable
manner ; it is, indeed, marvellous how long this social
organization lasted, in spite of all its faults and all its
chances of ruin ; second, that the efiect of this religion,
during long ages, must have been to render it impossi-
ble to establish any other social form than the city.
Every city, even by the requirements of its religion,
was independent. It was necessary that each should
CHAP. XIV. THE MUNICIPAL SPIRIT. 269
have its particular code, since each had its own re-
ligion, and the law flowed from the religion. Each
was required to have its sovereign tribunal, and there
could be no judicial tribunal superior to that of the
city. Each had its religious festivals and its calendar ;
the months and the year could not be the same in two
cities, as the series of religious acts was different. Each
had its own money, which at first was marked with its
religious emblem. Each had its weights and measures.
It was not admitted that there could be anything com-
mon between two cities. The line of demarcation was
so profound that one hardly imagined marriage possible
between the inhabitants of two different cities. Such
a union always appeared strange, and was long con-
sidered illegal. The legislation of Rome and that of
Athens were visibly averse to admitting it. N'early
everywhere children born of such a marriage were con-
foiinded with bastards, and deprived of the rights of
citizens. To make a marriage legal between inhabit-
ants of two cities, it was necessary that there should
be between those cities a particular convention — jus
COnnuhii, imya/ila.
Every city had about its territory a line of sacred
bounds. This was the horizon of its national religion
and of its gods. Beyond these bounds other gods
reigned, and another worship was practised.
The most salient characteristic of the history of
Greece and of Italy, before the Roman conquest, is the
excessive division of property and the spirit of isola-
tion in each city. Greece never succeeded in forming a
single state ; nor did the Latin or the Etruscan cities, or
the Samnite tribes, succeed in forming a compact body.
The incurable division of the Greeks has been attributed
to the nature of their country, and we are told that the
270 THE CITY. BOOK m.
mountains which intersect each other establish natural
/lines of demarcation among men. But there were no
mountains between Thebes and Plataea, between Argos
and Sparta, between Sybaris and Crotona. There
were none between the cities of Latium, or between
the twelve cities of Etruria. Doubtless physical na-
ture has some influence upon the history of a people,
but the beliefs of men have a much more powerful
one. In ancient times there was something more im-
passable than mountains between two neighboring
cities ; there were the series of sacred bounds, the dif-
i- ference of worship, and the hatred of the gods towards
the foreigner.
For this reason the ancients were never able to es-
tablish, or even to conceive of, any other social organiza-
tion than the city. Neither the Greeks, nor the Latins,
nor even the Romans, for a very long time, ever had a
thought that several cities might be united, and live on
an equal footing under the same government. There
might, indeed, be an alliance, or a temporary association,
in view of some advantage to be gained, or some
danger to be repelled ; but there was never a complete
union ; for religion made of every city a body which
could never be joined to another. Isolation was the
law of the city.
With the beliefs and the religious usages which we
have seen, how could several cities ever have become
united in one state? Men did not understand human
association, and it did not appear regular, unless it was
founded upon religion. The symbol of this association
was a sacred repast partaken of in common. A few
thousand citizens might indeed literally unite around
the same prytaneum, recite the same prayer, and par-
take of the same sacred dishes. But how attempt, with
CHAP. XrV. THE MUinCIPAE SPIEIT. 271
these usages, to make a single state of entire Greece?
How could men hold the public repasts, and perform
all the sacred ceremonies, in which every citizen was
bound to take a part ? Where would they locate the
prytaneum? How would they perform the annual
lustration of the citizens ? What would bocome of
the inviolable limits which had from the beginning
marked out the territory of the city, and which sepa-
rated it forever from the rest of the earth's surface ?
What would become of all the local worships, the city
divinities, and the heroes who inhabited every canton ?
Athens' had within her limits the hero OEdipus, the
enemy of Thebes : how unite Athens and Thebes in
the same worship and under the same government?
When these superstitions became weakened (and
this did not happen till a late period, in common minds),
it was too late to establish a new form of state. The
division had become consecrated by custom, by inter-
est, by inveterate hatreds, and by the memory of past
struggles. Men could no longer return to the past.
Every city held fast to its autonomy : this was the
name they gave to an assemblage which comprised
their worship, their laws, their government, and their
entire religious and political independence.
It was easier for a city to subject another than to
annex it. Victory might make slaves of all the inhab-
itants of a conquered city, but they could not be made
citizens of the victorious city. To join two cities in a
single state, to unite the conquered population with
the victors, and associate them under the same govern-
ment, is what was never seen among the ancients, with
one exception, of which we shall speak presently. If
Sparta conquered Messenia, it was not to make of the
Spartans and Messenians a single people. The Spar
272 THE CITY. BOOK in.
tans expelled the whole race of the vanquished, and
took their lands< Athens proceeded in the same man-
ner with Salamis, ^gina, and Melos.
The thought of removing the conquered to the city
of the victors could not enter the mind of any one.
The city possessed gods, hymns, festivals, and laws,
which were its precious patrimony, and it took good
care not to share these with the vanquished. It had
not even the right to do this. Could Athens admit
that a citizen of ^gina might enter the temple of
Athene Polias? that he might offer his worship to
Theseus? that he might take part in the sacred re-
pasts ? that, as a prytane, he might keep up the public
fire ? Religion forbade it. The conquered population
of the isle of ^gina could not, therefore, fonn a single
state with the population of Athens. Not having the
same gods, the ^ginetans and the Athenians could not
have the same laws or the same magistrates.
But might not Athens, at any rate, leaving the
conquered city intact, send magistrates within its walls
to govern it?. It was absolutely contrary to the prin-
ciples of the ancients to place any man over a city, who
was not a citizen of it. Indeed, the magistrate was a
religious chief, and his principal function was to sacri-
fice in the name of the city. The foreigner, who had
not the right to offer the sacrifice, could not therefore
be a magistrate. Having no religious function, he had
not in the eyes of men any regular authority. Sparta
attempted to place its harmosts in the cities, but these
men were not magistrates; they did not act as judges,
or appear in the assemblies. Having no regular rela-
tion with the people of the cities, they could not main-
tain themselves there for any great length of time.
Every conqueror, consequently, had only the alterna-
CHAP. XV. RELATIONS BETWEEN THE CITIES. 273
tive of destroying a subdued city and occupying its
territory, or of leaving it entirely independent. There
was no middle course. Either the city ceased to exist,
or it was a sovereign state. So long as it retained its
worship, it retained its government; it lost the one
only by losing the other ; and then it existed no longer.
This absolute independence of the ancient city conld
only cease when the belief on which it was founded
had completely disappeared. After these ideas had
been transformed and several revolutions had passed
over these antique societies, then men might come to
have an idea of, and to establUh, a larger state, gov-
erned by other rules. But for this it was necessary
that men should discover other principles and other
social bonds than those of the ancient ages.
CHAPTER XV.
Belations between the Cities. War. Peace. The Alli-
ance of the Gods.
This religion, which exercised so powerful an empire
over the interior life of the city, intervened with the
same authority in all the relations between cities. We
may see this by observing how men of those ancient
ages carried on war, how they concluded peace, and
how they formed alliances.
Two cities were two religious associations which had
not the same gods. When they were at war it was
not the men alone who fought — the gods also took jjart
in the struggle. Let no one suppose that this wns
simply a poetical fiction. There was among the gn-
18
274 THE CITT. BOOK m.
cients a very definite and a very vivid belief, by 'reason
of which each array took its gods along with it. Men
believed that these gods took an active part in the bat-
tle ; the soldiei-s defended them and they (defended th«
soldiers. While fighting against the enemy, each one
believed he was fighting against the gods of another
city. These foreign gods he was permitted to detest,
to abuse, to strike ; he might even make them prison-
ers. Thus war had a sti-ange aspect. ~We must pic-
ture to ourselves two armies facing each other : in the
midst of each are its etatues, its a\tm;vaad its stan-
dards, which are sacred emblem«; each has its orades,
which have promised it success ; its augurs, and its
soothsayers, who assure it thevictory. Before the bat-
tle each soldier in the two armies thinks and says, like
the Greek in Euripides, "The gods who fight for us
are more powerful than those of our enemies." Each
army pronounces against the other an imprecation like
that which Macrobins has preserved — " O gods, spread
fear, terror, and misfortune among our Quemies. Let
these men, and "whoever inhabits bheir lands and ciii^,
be deprived by you of the light of the sun. May their
city, and their lands, and their heads, and their persons,
be devoted to you." After this imprecation, they rush
to battle on both sides, with that savage fury which
the notion that they have gods fighting for'them and
that they are fighting against strange gods inspires in
them. There is no mercy for the enemy ; war is im-
placa,ble ; religion presides over the struggle, and ex-
cites the combatants. There can be no superior rule
to moderate the desire for slaughter; they are permit-
ted to kill the prisoners and the wounded.
Even outside the field of battle they have no idea
of a duty of any kind towards the enemy. There are
CHAP. XV. WAR. 275
never anyrights for a foreigner, least of all in time
of war. 'No one was required to distinguish the just
from the niijuat in respect to him. Mucins Scsev-
61a and all the Romans believed it was a glorious
deed to assasBinate an enemy. The consul Mai-cius
boasted publicly of having deceived the king of Mace-
donia. Paulus'JEmilius sold as slaves a hundred thou-
sand Epirots who had voluntarily surrendered them-
selves to him.
The Lacedaemonian Phebidas seized upon the cita-
del of the Thebains in time of peace. Agesilaus was
questioned upon the justice of this action. "Inquire
only if it is useful," said the king; "for whenever an
action is useful to our country, it is right." This was
the international law of ancient cities. Another king
of Sparta, Cleomenes, said that all the evil one could
do to enemies was always just in theieyes of gods and
men.
The conqueror could use his victory as he pleased.
Jfo human or divine law restrained his vengeance or
his cupidity. The day on wliich the Athenians decreed
that all the Mitylenseans, without distinction of age or
sex, should be exterminated, they 'did not dream of
transcending their rights; and when, on the next day,
they revoked their decree, and contented themselves
with putting a thousand citizens to death, and confis-
cating all the lands, theyithought themselves humane
and indulgent. After the taking of Platsea, the men
were put to death, and the women sold; and yet^no
one accused the conquerors of having violated any law.
These men made wai- :not only upon soldiers, but
upon an entire population, men, women, children, and
slaves. They waged it not only against human beings,
but against fields and crops. They burned houses and
276 THE CITY. BOOK HI.
cut down trees ; the harvest of the enemy was ulmost
always devoted to the infernal gods, and consequently
burned. They exterminated the cattle; they even de-
stroyed the seed which might produce a crop the fol-
lowing year. A war might cause the name and race
of an entire people to disappear at a single blow, and
change a fertile country into a desert. It was by
virtue of this law of war that the Romans extended
a solitude around their city ; of the territory where the
Volecians had twenty-three cities, it made the Pontine
marshes ; the flfty-thTee cities of Latium have dis-
appeared ; in Samniura, the places where the Roman
armies had passed could long be recognized, less by
the vestiges of their camps than by the solitude which
reigned in the neighborhood.
When the conquerors did not exterminate the van-
quished, they had a right to suppress their city — that
is to say, to break up their religious and political asso-
ciation. The worship then ceased, and the gods were
forgotten. The religion of the city being destroyed,
the religion Of every family disappeared at the same
time. The sacred fires were extinguished. With the
worship fell the laws, civil rights, the family, property,
everything that depended upon religion.' Let us listen
to the prisoner whose life is spared; he is made to pro-
nounce the following formula : " I give my person, my
city, my land, the water that flows over it, my boundary
gods, my temples, my movable property, everything
which pertains to the gods, — these I give to the Ro-
man people.'" Prom this moment the gods, the tem-
ples, the houses, the lands, and the people belonged to
' Cicero, in Verr., II. 3, 6. Siculus Flaceus, passim. Thu-
tydidea, III. 50 and 68.
' Livy, I. 38. Plantus, Amphitr., 100-105.
JHAP. XV. PEACE, 277
the victors. We shall relate, farther on, what the
result of this was under the dominion of Rome.
When a war did not end by the extermination or
subjection of one of the two parties, a treaty of peace
might terminate it. But for this a convention was not
sufficient ; a religious act was necessary. Every treaty
was marked by the immolation of a victim. To sign a
treaty is a modern expression ; the Latins said, strike a
kid, icere hcedus, or foedus ; the name of the victim
most generally employed for this purpose has remained
in the common language to designate the entire act.'
The Greeks expressed themselves in a similar manner ;
they said, oifer a libation — anii'Seodm. The ceremony
of. the treaty was always accomplished by priests,
who conformed to the ritual.* In Italy they were
called feciales, and spendophoroi, or libation-carriers,
in Greece.
These religious ceremonies alone gave a sacred and
inviolable character to international conventions. The
history of the Caudine Forks is well known. An entire
army, through its consuls, questors, tribunes, and cen-
turions had made a convention with the Samnites ; but
no victims had been offered. The senate, therefore,
believed itself justified in declaring that the treaty was
not valid. In annulling it, no pontiff or patrician be-
lieved that he was committing an act of bad faith.
It was the universal opinion among the ancients that
a man owed no obligations except to his own gods.
We may recall the saying of a certain Greek, whose
city adored the hero Alabandos ; he was speaking to an
inhabitant of another city, that worshipped Hercules.
' Festus, FcBdum, and Faedus.
' In Greece they wore a crown. Xenophon, Bell., IV. 7, 3.
278 THE CETT. BOOK m.
"Alabandos," said he, "is a god, and Hercules is not
one." ' With such ideas it was important, in a treaty
of peace, that each city called its own gods to
bear witness to its oaths. "We made a treaty, and
poured out the libations," said the Plataeans to the
Spartans; "we called to witness, you the gods of
your fathers, we the gods who occupy our country." »
Both parties tried, indeed, if it was possible, to invoke
divinities that were common to both, cities. They
swore by those gods that were visible everywhere — the
sun, which shines upon all, and the nourishing earth.
But the gods of each city, and its protecting heroes,
touched men much more, and it was aecessary to call
them to witness, if men vi^ished to^ have oaths really
confirmed by religion. As the gods mingled in the
battles during the war, they had to be included in the
treaty. It was stipulated, therefore, that there should
be an alliance between the gods as between the men of
the two cities- To indicate this alliance of the gods,
it sometimes happened, that the two peoples agreed!
mutually to take part ia each other's sacred festivals.'
Sometimes they opened their temples to each other,
and made an exchange of religious rites. Rome once
stipulated that the city god of Lanuvium should thence-
forth protect the Romans, who should have the right
to invoke him, and, to enter his temple.* Aftei'wavds
each of the contracting parties engaged to worship the
divinities; of the other. Thus the Eleans, having con-
cluded a treaty with the ^tolians, thenceforth offered
an annual sacrifice to the heroes of their allies.^
It. often happenedj after an alli'ance,, that the divini-
' Cicero, De Nat. Dear., III. 19. = Thucydides, II.
" Thucydides, V. 23. Plutarch, Thesews, 25, 33.
• Livy, VIII. Ul ' Pausanias, V. 15.
CHAP. XV. THE ALLIANCE OF THE GODS. 279
ties of two cities were represented by statues or medals
holding one another by the hand. Thus it is that there
are medals on which are seen united the Apollo of
Miletus and the Genius of Smyrna, the Pallas of the
Sideans and the Ai-temis of Perga, the Apollo of Hie-
rapolis and the Artemis of Ef)hesus. Virgil, speaking of
ail alliance between Thrace and the Trojans, represents
the Penates of the two nations united and associated.
These strange customs corresponded perfectly with
the idea which the ancients had of the gods. As every
city had its own, it seemjedi natural that these gods
should figure in' battles and treaties. War or peace
between two cities was war or peace between two
I'eligions.
International law- among the ancients was long
founded upon this principle. When the gods were en-
emies, there was war without mercy and without law;
as soon as they were friends, the men were united, and
entertained ideas of reciprocal duties. If they could
imagine that the protecting divinities of two cities had
some motive for becoming allies, this was reason enough
why the two cities should become so.. The first city
with which Rome contracted ties of fi-iendship was
Caere, in Etruria, and Livy givesi the- reason for this :
in the disaster of the Gallic invasion, the Roman gods
had found an asylum in Caere; they had inhabited that
city, and had been adored there ; a sacred bond of
friendship was thus established between the Roman
gods and, the Etruscan city.' Thenceforth religion
wouldt not permit the two cities to be enemies ; they
were allied forever.'
' Livy, V. 50. Aulas Gellms, XVL 13.
' It does not enter into our plant to apeak of tile numeroua
confederations ox amphictyotties in anoienti Qreece and Italy.
280 THE CITY. BOOK in.
CHAPTER XVI.
The Roman. The Atheniaji.
This same religion which had founded society, and
which had governed it for a long time, also gave the
human mind its direction, and man his character. By-
its dogmas and its practices it gave to the Greek and
the Roman a certain manner of thinking and acting,
and certain habits of which they were a long time in
divesting themselves. It showed men gods every-
We will only remark here that they were as much religious as
political associations. There was not one of them that had not
a common worshii) and a sanctuary. That of the Boeotians wor-
shipped Athene Itonia, that of the Achaeans Demeter Panachaea,
the god of the lonians in Asia Minor was Poseidon Helliconius,
as that of the Dorian Pentapolis was Apollo Triopicus. The
confederation of the Cyclades offered a common sacrifice in the
isle of Delos, the cities of Argolis at Calauria. The Amphic-
tyony of Thermopylae was an association of the same nature. All
their meetings took place in temples, and were principally for
offering sacrifices. Each of the confederate cities sent citizens
clothed for the time with a sacerdotal character, and called
ikeori, to take part in these meetings. A victim was slain in
honor (jf the god of the association, and the flesh, cooked upon
the altar, was shared among the representatives of the cities.
Tlie common meal, with the songs, prayers, and sacred plays
that accompanied them, formed the hond uf the confederation.
Xlie same usage existed in Italy. Tlie cities of Latium had the
feriffi Latinae, in which they shared the flesh of a victim. It
was the same with the Etruscan cities. Besides, in all these
amphictyonies, the political bond was always vreaker than the
religious one. The confederate cities preserved perfect inde-
pendence. They might even make war against each other,
provided they observed a truce during the federal festival.
CHAP. XVI. THE EOMASr. 281
where, little gods, gods easily irritated and malevolent.
It crushed man with the fear of always having gods
against him, and left him no liberty in his acts.
We must inquire what place religion occupied in
the life of a Roman. His house was for him what "^
temple is for us. He finds there his worship and his
gods. His fire is a god ; the walls, the doors, the thresh-
old are gods ; ' the boundary marks which sun-ound
his field are also gods. The tomb is an altar, and his
ancestors are divine beings.
Each one of his daily actions is a rite; his whole
day belongs to his religion. Morning and evening he
invokes his fire, his Penates, and his ancestors ; in leav-
ing and entering his house he addresses a prayer to
them. Every meal is a religious act, which he shares
with his domestic divinities. Birth, initiation, the
taking of the toga, marriage, and the anniversaries of
all these events, are the solemn acts of his worship.
He leaves his house, and can hardly take a step with-
out meeting some sacred object — either a chapel, or a
place formerly struck by lightning, or a tomb ; some-
times he must step back and pronounce a pr.iyer ; some-
times he must turn his eyes and cover his face, to
avoid the sight of some ill-boding object.-
Every day he sacrifices in his house, every month
in his cury, several months a year with his gens or his
tribe. Above all these gods, he must offer worship to
those of the city. There are in Rome more gods than
citizens.
He oflFers sacrifices to thank the gods ; he ofiers them,
and by far the greater number, to appease their wrath.
' St. Aug-ustine, City of God, VI. 7. TertuUian, Ad. Nat.,
[I. 15.
282 THB CITT. BOOK HI.
One day he figures in a procession, dancing after a
certain ancient rhythm, to the sound of the sacred flute.
Another day he conducta chariots, in which lie statues
of the divinities. Another time it. is a, lectisternium :
a table is set in a street, and loaded with provisions
upon beds lie statues of the gode^.and every Roman
passes bowing, with a crown upon his head, and a
branch of laurel in his hand.'
There is a festival for seed-time, one for the harvest,
and one for the pruning of tlie vines> Before corn has
reached the ear,, the Roman, has offered more than ten
sacrifices,, and invoked some: ten divinities for the suc-
cess of his harvest. He haSj above all, a multitude of
festivals for the dead,, because he isafraLd of theaai.
He never leaves his^own house without, looking to
see if any bird of bad augury appeals. There are
words which, he darea not pronounce for his life. If
he experiences some desire, he inscribes his wish' upon
a, tablet which ho places at the feet of the statue of a
divinity.
At every moment he, consults the gods,, and wishes
to know their will., Ho finds, all his resolutions ia tihe
enitraila of victims,, in the flight of birds, in the warning
of the lightning, The announcement of a shower of.
blood, or of an ox that has spoken^, troubles him and
makes him tremble. He will be tranquil only after an
expiatory ceremony shall restore hint to peace with
the gods>
He steps out of his house always with the right foot
first. He has his hair cut only during, the full moon.
He carries amulets upon his . person. He covers the
walls of his house with magic inscriptions against fire,
• Livy, XXXIV. 65 ; XL. 37.
CHAP. XVI. THE EOMAlsr. 283
He knows of formulas for avoiding sickness, and of
others for curing it; but he must repeat them twenty-
seven times, and spit in a certain, fashion at each
repetition.?
He does not delihej-ate in the senate if the victims
have not given favorable signs. He leaves the as-
sembly of the people if he hears the, cry of a mouse.
He renounces the best: laid plans if he perceives a bad
presage,j or if an ill-omened word has struck his ear.
He is brave in battle, but on condition that the aus-
pices assure him the victory.
This, Soman whom we present here is not the man
of the people, the feeble-minded man whom misery
and ignorance have made superstitious. We are speak-
ing of the patricians the noble, powerful, and rich man.
This patrician is,. by turns,; warrior,, magistrate, consul,
farmer, merchant;; but everywhere and always he is
&. priest, and his thoughts are fixed, upon, the gods.
Patriotism, love of glory, and love of gold, whatever
power these may have over his soul, the fear of the
gods still governs everything. Horace has written the
most stii'king truth concerning the Romans :: —
"Dlste minorem quod geria, imperae."
Men have sometimes called this a political' religion ;
but can we suppose that a senate of three hundred mem-
bers, a body of three thousand patricians, should have
agreed' so unanimously to deceive an ignorant people ?
and that, for ages, during so many rivalries, struggles,
and personal hatreds, not a single voice was raised, to
say, This is a falsehood ? If a patrician had betrayed
' Cato, Be Re Rust., 160: Varro, Db Re ^ust., 1. 2; I. 37.
BliTXy, N. H., VIII. &2; XVII. 28; XXVII. 12'; XXVIH. 2.
Jmrcnal, X. 55. Auius.Gcellius, ItV. 5i.
284 THE CITY. BOOK lH.
the secrets of his sect, — if, addressing himself to the
plebeians, who impatiently supported the yoke of this
religion, he had disembarrassed and freed them from
these auspices and priesthoods, — this man would imme-
diately have obtained so much' credit that he might
have become the master of the state. Does any one
suppose that if these patricians had not believed in the
religion which they practised, such a temptation would
not have been strong enough to determine at least one
among them to reveal the secret ? We greatly deceive
ourselves on the nature of man if we suppose a reli-
gion can be established by convention and supported
by irapos'iure. Let any one count in Livy Iiow many
times this religion embarrassed the patricians them>
selves, how many times it stood in the way of the sen-
ate and impeded its action, and then decide if this
religion was invented for the convenience of statesmen.
It was very late — not till the time of the Scipios —
that they began to believe that religion was useful to
the government ; but then religion was already dead
in their minds.
Let us take a Roman of the first days : we will choose
one of the greatest commanders, Camillus, who was five
times dictator, and who was victorious in more than
ten battles. To be just, we must consider him quite
as much a priest as a warrior. He belonged to the
Furian gens ; his surname is a word which designates
a priestly function. When a child he was required to
w-ear the prcetexta, which indicated his caste, and the
bulla, which kept bad fortune from him. He grew up,
taking a daily part in the ceremonies of the worship ;
he passed his youth in studying religious rites. A war
oroke out, and the priest became a soldier ; he was
seen, when wounded in the thigh, in a cavalry combat,
CHAP. XVI. THE KOMAN. 285
to draw the iron from the wound and continue to fight.
After several campaigns he was raised to magistracies',
as consular tribune he offered the public sacrifices, acted
as judge, and commanded the army. A day comes
when men think of him for the dictatorship. On that
day, the magistrate in office, after having watched
during a clear night, consults the gods ; his thoughts
are fixed upon Camillus, whose name he pronounces in
a low voice, and his eyes are fixed upon the heavens,
■where he seeks the presages. The gods send only good
ones, for Camillus is agreeable to them, and he is named
dictator.
Now, as chief of the array, he leaves the city, not
without having consulted the auspices and slain many
victims. He has under his orders many officers and
almost as many priests, a pontiff, augtirs, arnspices-,
keepers of the sacred chickens, assistants at sacrifices,
and a bearer of the sacred fire. His work is to finish
the war against Veii, which for nine yeai-s has been
besieged without success. Veii is an Etruscan city —
that is to say, almost a sacred city ; it is againa.; piety,
more than courage, that the Romans have to contend.
If the Romans have been unsuccessful for nine years,
it is because the Etruscans have a better knowledge of
the rites that are agreeable to the gods, and the magic
formulas that gain their favor. Rome, on her side, has
opened the Sibylline books, and has sought the will of
the gods there. It appears that the Latin festival
has been vitiated by some neglect of form, and the
sacrifice is renewed. Still the Etruscans retain their
superiority ; only one resource ia left — to seize an
Etruscan priest and learn the secret of the gods from
him. A Veientine priest is taken and brought to
the senate. " To insure the success of Rome," he says,
286 THE CITT. BOOK IH.
"the level of the Alban Lake must be lowered, taking
good care that the water does not ran into the sea^"
The Romans obey. They dig many canals and ditches,
and the water of the lake is lost in the plain.
At this moment Camillus is elected dictator. He
repairs to the army at Yeii. He is sure of success;
for all the oracles have been revealed, all the commands
of the gods have been fulfilled. Moreover, before leav-
ing Rome, he has pi'omised the pT'otecting gods festi-
vals and sacrifices. In order to insure success he does
not neglect human means ; he increases the army, im^
proves its discipline, and constructs a subterranean
gallery, to penetrate into the citadel. The day.for the
attack arrives; Camillus leaves his tent; he takes the
auspices and sacrifices victims. The pontiiffs ^nd au-
gurs surround him ; clothed in the jpahi6kimentum, he
invokes the gods : " Under thy conduct, O Apollo, and
by thy will which inspires me, I march to take and de-
stroy the city of Veii : to thee I promise and devote a
tenth part of the spoils." 3ut it is not enongh to have
gods on his side ; the enemy also has a powerful divin-
ity that protects him. Camillus invokes this divinity
in these woi"ds : "Queen Juno, who at present inhabit-
est Veii, I pray thee come with us conquerors ; follow
us into our city ; let our city become thine." Then,
the sacrifices being finished, the prayers pronounced,
the formulas recited, when the Romans are sure that
the gods are for them, and no god any longer defends
the enemy, the assault is made, and the city isttaken.
Such was Camillus. A Roman general was a man who
understood admirably how to .fight, who knew, above
all, how to command obedience, but who believed firm-
ly in the augurs, who performed religious acts every
day, and who was convinced that what was of most
CHIP. XVI. THE ATHENIAN. 287
importance was not courage, or even discipline, but the
enunciation of certain formulas exactly pronounced,
according to the lites. .These formulas, addressed to
the gods, "determined them and constrained them
almost always to igive him the victory. iFor such a
general the supreme recompense was for the senate to
permit him to ioffer the triumphal sacrifice. Then he
ascends the sacred chariot drawn by four white horses;
he wears the sacred robe with which the gods are
clothed on ifestal ^ays ; his head is crowned, his right
hand holds a lam-el branch, his left the ivory scep-
tre; these are exactly the attributes and the costume
of Jupiter's statue.' With this almost divine majesty
he shows himself to the citizens, and goes to render
(homage to the true majesty of the greatest of the iRo-
man gods. He climbs the'slope of the Capitol, arrives
before the temple of Jupiter, and. immolates victims.
The fear of the gods was not a sentiment peculiar
to the Roman; it also reigned in the heart of the
Greek. These peoples, originally established by reli-
gion, and selevated by it, long preserved the marks of
their first education. We know the sonuples of the
Spartan, who never commenced an expedition before
the full moon, who was continually sacrificing victims
to know whether he ought to fight, and who renounced
the best planned and most necessary enterprises be-
cause a bad presage frightened him. The Athenian
was not less scrupulous. An Athenian army never set
out on a campaign before the seventh diayof the month,
and when a fleet set isail on an expedition, great care
was taken to regild the statae i)f Pallas.
' Livy, X. 7; XXX. 16. Dionysius, V. 8. Appian, Punic
Wars, 59. Juvenal, X. 43. Pliny, XXXIII. 7.
288 THE CITY. BOOK. HI.
Xenophon declares that the Athenians had moie
religious festivals than any other Greek people.' " How
many victims offered to the gods!" says Aristophanes,'
" how many temples ! how many statues ! how many
sacred processions! At every moment of the year we
see religions feasts and crowned victims." The city
of Athens and its territory are covered with temples
and chapels. Some are for the city worship, others for
the tribes and demes, and still others for family wor-
ship. Every house is itself a temple, and in every field
there is a sacred tomb.
The Athenian whom we picture to ourselves as so
inconstant, so capricious, such a free-thinker, has, on
the contrary, a singular respect for ancient traditions
and ancient rites. His principal religion — that which
secures bis most fervent devotion — is the worship of
ancestors and heroes. He worships the dead and fears
them. One of his laws obliges him to offer them yearly
the first fruits of his harvest ; another forbids him to
pronounce a single word that can call down their an-
ger. Whatever relates to antiquity is sacred to the
Athenian. He has old collections, in which are record-
ed his rites, from which he never departs. If a priest
introduces the slightest innovation into the worship,
he is punished with death. The strangest i-ites are
observed from age to age. One day in the year the
Athenians offer a sacrifice in honor of Ariadne; and
because it was said that the beloved of Theseus died
in childbirth, they ai-e compelled to imitate the cries
and movements of a woman in travail. They cele-
brate another festival, called Osohophoria, which is a
• Xenophon, Gov. of the Athenians, III. 2.
' Aristophanes, Clouds.
CHAP. XTI. THE ATHElflAlT. 289
sort of pantoinihi&, representing the retain of Tlieseiw
to Attica. They crown the wand of a herald because
Theseus's herald crowned his staff. They utter a cer-
tain cry which they suppose the hei;ald uttered, and a
procession is formed, and each wears the costume that
was in fashion in Theseus's time. On another day the
Athenians' did not fail, to boil vegetables in a pot of a
certain kind. This was a rite the origin, of which
was lost in dim antiquity^ and of which no one knew
the significance, but which, was piously renewed, each
year.'
The Athenian, like the Roman, had unlucky dp.ys :
on these days no marriage took place, no enterprise was
begun, no assembly was held, and, justice was not admiii-
istei-ed. The eighteeutk and nineteenth day of every
month was employed in purifications^ The day of the
Plynteria — a day unlucky above all — they veiled the
statue of the great Athene Polias. On the coQti'ai-y, on
the day of the Panathenaea, the veil of the goddess, was
carried in grand procession, and all the citizens, with-
out distinction of age or rank, made up the cortege.
The Athenian offered sacrifices for the harvests, for
the return of rain, and for the return of fair weather;
he ofiered' them to cure sickness, and to d4ve away
fhmine or pestilence.*
Athens has its collection of ancient oracle!S,,as Rome
has her Sibylline books, and supports in the Pryta-
neum men who foretell the future. In h^r streets we
meet at every step soothsayers, priests, and interpretei-s
of dreams^ The Athenian believes in portents ; sneez-
' Plutarch, 'Biesem, 20, 22, 23,
' Plato, Laws, p. 800. Fhilochprus, FragifL. Eurdpidc^,
19
290 THE CITY. BOOK HI.
ing, or a ringing in the ears, arrests him in an enter-
prise. He never goes on shipboard without taking
the auspices. Before marrying he does not fail to
consult the flight of birds. The assembly of the people
disperses as soon as any one declares that there has
appeared in the heavens an ill-boding sign. If a sacri-
fice has been disturbed by the announcement of bad
news, it must be recommenced.'
The Athenian hardly commences s sentence without
first invoking good fortune. He puts the same words
at the head of all his decrees. On the speaker's stand
the orator prefers to commence with an invocation to
the gods and heroes who inhabit the country. The
])eople are led by oracles. The orators, to give their
advice more force, repeat, at every moment, "The
goddess ordains thus." '
Nicias belongs to a great and rich' family. While
still young he conducts to the sanctuary of Delos a
theoria — that is to say, victims, and a chorus to sing
the praises of the god during the sacrifice. Returning
to Athens, he oflfei's a part of his fortune in homage
to the gods, dedicating a statue to Athene and a chapel
to Dionysius. By turns he is hestiator, and pays the
expense of the sacred repast of his tribe ; and chore-
gus, when he supports a chorus for the religious festi-
vals. No day passes that he does not offer a sacrifice
to some god. He has a soothsayer attached to his
house, who never leaves it, and whom he consults on
public affairs, as well as on his own. Having been ap-
pointed a general, he commands an expedition against
' Aristophanes, Peace, 1084; Birds, 596, 718. Schol ad
Aves, 721. Thueyd., II. 8.
' Lycurgus, I. 1. Aristophanes, Knights, 903, 999, 1171, 1179.
CHAP. XVI. THE EOMAN. THE ATHENIAN. 291
Corinth; while he is returning victorious to Athens, he
perceives that two of his dead soldiers have been left,
"without burial, upon the enemy's territory. He is
seized with a religious scruple ; he stops his fleet, and
sends a herald to demand of the Corinthians permission
to bury the two bodies. Some time after, the Athenian
people are deliberating upon the Sicilian expedition.
Nicias ascends the speaker's stand, and declares that his
priests and soothsayers announce prestiges which are
opposed to the expedition. Alcibiades, it is true, has
other diviners who interpret the oracles in a contrary
sense. The people are undecided. Men come in who
have just arrived from Egypt; they have consulted the
god Ammon, who is beginning to be quite the fashion,
and they report this oracle from him. The Athenians
will capture all the Syracusans. The people immedi-
ately decide for war.'
Nicias, much against his will, commands the expedi-
tion. Before setting out, he offers a sacrifice, according
to custom. He takes with him, like other genefals; a
troop of diviners, sacrificers, anispices, and heralds.
The fleet carries its sacred fire; every vessel has an
emblem representing some god.
But Nicias has little hope. Is not misfortune an-
nounced by prodigies enough ? Crows have injured a
statue of Pallas; a man has mutilated himself upon an
altar; and the departure takes place during the unlucky
days of the Plynteria. Nicias knows only too well that
this war will be fatal to him and his country. During
the whole course of his campaign he always appears
timorous and circumspect : he hardly dares to give the
signal for a battle, he whom they know to be so brave
' Plutarch, Nicias. Thucydides, VI.
292 THE CITY. BOOK. m.
a soldier and so skilful a general. The Athenians
cannot take Syracuse, and, after cruel losses, they are
forced to decide upon returning home. Nicias pre-
pares his fleet for the return ; the sea is still free. But
an eclipse of the moon happens. He consults his divin-
er; the diviner answers that the presage is unfavor-
able, and that they must wait three times nine days.
Nicias obeys ; he passes all this time inactive^ offering
many sacrifices to appease the wrath of the gods.
During this delay the enemy close up the port and
destroy his fleet. Ifothing is left for him but to retreat
by land, and this is impossible. Neither he nor any
of his soldiers escapes the Syracusans.
What did the Athenians say at the news of this
disaster ? They knew the personal courage of Mcias,
and his admirable constancy. Nor did they dream, of
blaming him for having followed the dictates of religion.
Th,ey found but one thing to reproach him for ; this was
for having taken with him an ignorant diviner. For
this man had been mistaken as to the meaning of the
eclipse of the moon ; he ought to have known that, for
an army wishing to retreat, a moon that conceals its
light is a favorable presage.'
' Plutarch, Nicim, 23.,
CHAP. XVn. OMNIPOTENCE OB' THE STATE. 293
CHAPTER XVII.
The Omnipotence of the State- The Ancients knew nothing
of Individual liberty.
The city had been founded upon a religion, and
constituted like a church. Hence its strength ; hence,
nlso, its^omnipotence and the absolute empire which it
exercised oyer its members. In a society established
on such principles, individual liberty couM not exist.
The citizen was subordinate in everything, and without
aiiyxeserye, to the city ; he^belonged to it body and soul.
The religion which had produced the state, and th«
state which supported the religion, sustained each other,
and made but one ; these two powers, associated and
confounded, formed a power almost superhuman, to
which the soul and the body were equally enslaved.
There was nothing independent in man ; his body
belonged to the state, and was devoted to its defence.
At Rome military service»was due till a man was fifty
years old, at Athens till he was sixty, at Sparta always.
His fortune was always at the disposal of the state. If
the city had need of money, it could order the women
to deliver up their jewels, the creditors to give up their
claims, and the owners of olive trees to tarn over gra-
tuitously the oil which they had made.'
Private life did not escape this omnipotence of the
state, The Athenian law, in the name of religion, for-
bade men to remain single.' Sparta punished not only
those who remained single, but those who married
* Aristotle, Econom., II.
' Pollux, VIII. 40. Plutarch, Lysarul,er, 30.
294 THE CITY. BOOK ni.
late. At Athena the state could prescribe labor, and
at Sparta idleness. _ It exercised its tyranny even in
the smallest things ; at Locii the laws forbade men to
drink pure wine ; at Rome, Miletus, and Marseilles wine
■was forbidden to women.' It was a common thing for
the kind of dress to be invariably fixed by each city;
the legislation of Sparta regulated the head-di-ess of
women, and that of Athens forbade them to take with
them on a journey more than three dresses.' At
Rhodes and Byzantium the law forbade men to shave
the beard.'
The state was under no obligation to suffer any of
its citizens to be deformed. It therefore commanded
a father to whom such a son was born, to have him put
to death. This law is found in the ancient codes of
Sparta and of Rome. We do not know that it existed
at Athens ; we know only that Aristotle and Plato in-
corporated it into their ideal codes.
There is, in the history of Sparta, one trait which
Plutarch and Rousseau greatly admired. Sparta had
just suffered a defeat at Leuctra, and many of its citi-
zens had perished. On the receipt of this news, the
relatives of the dead had to show themselves in public
with gay countenances. The mother who learned that
her son had escaped, and that she should see him again,
appeared afflicted and wept. Another, who knew that
' Athenseus, X. 33. .ffilian, V. B., II. 37.
» Fragm. Hist. Grac. Didot, t. II. p. 129, 211. Plutarch,
Solon, 21.
' Athcnaeus, XIII. Plutarch, Cleomenes, 9.
" The Romans thought that no marriage, or rearing of chil-
dren, nay, no feast or drinking bout, ought to be permitted
according to every one's appetite or fancy, without being ex-
amined and inquired into." Plutarch, Cato the Elder, 23.
CHAP. XVII. EDUCATION. 295
ehe should never again see her son, appeared joyous,
and went round to the temple to thank the gods.
What, then, was the power of the state that could thus
order the reversal of the natural sentiments, and be
obeyed ?
The state allowed no man to be indifferent to its
interests ; the philosopher or the studious man liad no
right to live apart. He was obliged to vote in the
assembly, and be magistrate in his turn. At a time
when discords were fi-equent, the Athenian law per-
mitted no one to 'remain neutral; he must take sides
with one or the other party. Against one who at-
tempted to remain indifferent, and not side with either
faction, and to appear calm, the law pronounced the
punishment of exile with confiscation of property.
Education was far from being free among the Greeks.
On the contrary, there was nothing over which the
state had greater control. At Sparta the father could
have nothing to do with the education of his son. The
law appears to have been less rigorous at Athens ; still
the state managed to have education in the hands of
masters of its own choosing. Aristophanes, in au elo-
quent passage, shows the Athenian children on their
way to school ; in order, distributed according to their
district, they march in serried ranks, through rain,
snow, or scorching heat. These children seem already
to understand that they are performing a public duty.'
The state wished alone to control education, and Plato
gives the motive for this : ' " Parents ought not to be
free to send or not to send their children to tiie masters
whom the city has chosen ; for the children belong less
lo their parents than to the city."
Aristophanes, Clouds, 960-965. » Plato, Laws, VIX.
296 THE CITY. BOOK IH.
The state considered the mind and body of every
citizen as belonging to it; and wished, therefore, to
fashion this body and mind in a manner that would
enable it to draw the greatest advantage from them.
Children were taught gymnastics, because the body of
a man was an arm for the city, and it was best that tWs
arm should be as strong and as skilful as possible.
They were also taught religious songs and hymns, and
the sacred dances, because this knowledge was neces-
sary to the correct performance of the sacrifices and
festivals of the city.'
It was admitted that the state had a right to prevent
free instruction by the side of its own. One day Athens
made a law forbidding the instruction of young people
without authority from the magistrates, and another,
which specially forbade the teaching of philosophy."
A man had no chance to choose his belief. He must
believe and submit to the religion of the city. He
could hate and despise the gods of the neighboring
3ity. As to the divinities of a general and universal
character, like Jupiter, or Cybele, or Juno, he was fi'ee
to believe or not to believe in them ; but it would not
do to entertain doubts about Athene Polias, or Erech-
theuB, or Cecrops. That would have been grave im-
piety, which would have endangered religion and the
state :.t the same time, and which the state would have
severe!}' punished. Socrates was put to death for this
crime. Liberty of thought in regard to the state re-
ligion was absolutely unknown among the ancients.-
' Aristophanes, Clouds, 96B-968.
° Xenophon, Memor., I. 2. Diogenes Laertius, Theophr.
These two laws did not continue a long time ; bat they do not
the less prove the omnipotence that was conceded to the state in
matters of instruction.
CHAP. X"Vn. INDIVIDUAL LIBERTY. 297
Men had to conform to all the rules of worship, figure
■in all the processions, and take part in the sacred
repasts. Athenian legislation punished those by a
fine who failed religiously to celebrate a national
festival.'
The ancients, therefore, knew neither liberty in pri-
vate life, liberty in education, nor religious liberty.
The human person counted for very little against that
holy and almost divine authority which was called
countiy or the state. The state had not only, as we
■have in our modern societies, a right to administer jus-
tice to the citizens ; it could strike when one was not
guilty, and simply for its own interest. Aristides as-
suredly had committed no crime, and was not even
suspected ; bat the city had the right to drive him from
its territory, for the simple reason that he had acquired
by his virtues too much influence, and might become
dangerous, if he desired to be. This was called ostra-
cism / this institution was not peculiar to Athens ; it
was found at Argos, at Megara, at Syracuse, and we
may believe that it existed in all the Greek cities."
Now, ostracism was not a chastisement; it was a
precaution which the city took against a citizen whom
it suspected of having the power to injure it at any
time. ' At Athens a man could be put on trial and con-
demned for incivism — that is to say, for the want of
affection towards the state. A man's life was guaran-
teed by nothing so soon as the interest of the state was
at stake. Rome made a law by which it was permitted
to kill any man who might have the intention of be-
• Pollux, VIII. 46. Ulpian, Schol. in Demosthenes ; in Mei-
diam.
' Aristotle, Pol., VIII. 2, 5. Scholiast on Aristoph., Knights,
851.
298. THE CITY. BOOK m.
coming king.' The dangerous maxim that the safety
of the state is the supreme law, was the work of an-
tiquity." It was then thought that law, justice, morals,
everything should give way before the interests of the
country.
It is a singular error, therefore, among all human
errors, to believe that in the ancient cities men enjoyed_
liberty. JThey had not even the idea of j^tj They did
not believe that there could exist any right as against
the city and its gods. We shall see, farther on, that
the governiuent changed form several times, while the
nature of the state remained nearly the same, and its
omnipotence was little diminished. The government
was called by turns monarchy, aristocracy, democracy ;
but none of these revolutions gave man true liberty,
individual liberty. To have political rights, to vote,
to name magistrates, to have the privilege of being
archon, — this was called libe'rty ; but man was not the
less enslaved to the state. The ancients, especially the
Greeks, always exaggerated the importance, and above
all, the rights of society ; this was largely due, doubt-
less, to the sacred and religious character with which
society was clothed in the beginning.
' Plutarch, Puhlicola, 12. ' Cicero, De Legit., III. 3.
CHAP. I. PATRICIANS AND CLIENTS. 299
BOOK FOURTH.
THE REVOLUTIONS.
CHAPTER I.
Patricians and Clients.
Ceetainlt we could imagine nothing more solidly
constituted than this family of the ancient ages, which
contained within itself its gods, its worship, its priest,
and its magistrate. There could be nothing stronger
than this city, which also had in itself its religion, its
protecting gods, and its independent priesthood, which
governed the soul as well as the body of man, and which,
infinitely more powerful than the states of our day,
united in itself the double authority that we now see
shared between the state and the church. If any so-
ciety was ever established to last, it was certainly that.
Still, like everything human, it had its revolutions.
We cannot state at what period these revolutions com-
menced. We can understand that, in reality, this epoch
was not the same for the different cities of Greece and
Italy. All that is certain is, that from the seventh cen-
tury before our era, this social organization was almost
everywhere discussed and attacked. From that time
it was supported only with difficulty, and by a more or
less skilful combination of resistance and concessions.
300 THE REVOLTTTIONS. BOOK IV.
It struggled thus for several centuries, in the midst of
perpetual contests, and finally disappeared.
The causes of its destruction may be reduced to two.
One was the change which took place in the course of
time in ideas, resulting from the natural development
of the human rnind, and which, in effacing ancient
beliefs, at the same time caused the social edifice to
crumble, which these beliefs had built, and could alone
sustain. The other was a class of men who found
themselves placed outside this city organization, and
who suffered from it. These men had an interest in
destroying it, and made war upon it continually.
When, therefore, the beliefs, on which this social re-
gime was founded, became weakened, and the interests
of the majority of men were at war with it, the sys-
tem fell. No city escaped this law of tra»sformation ;
Sparta no more than Athens, Rome no more than
Greece. We have seen that the men of Greece and
those of Italy had originally the same beliefs, and that
the same series of institutions was developed among
both ; and we shall now see that all these cities passed
through similar revolutions.
We must try to understand why and how men became
separated from this ancient organization, not to fall, but,
on the contrary, to advance towards a social organiza-
tion larger and better. For under the semblance of
disorder, and sometimes of decay, each of their changes
brought them nearer an object which they did not com-
prohend.
Thus far we have not spoken of the lower classes,
because we have had no occasion to speak of them.
For we have been attempting to describe the primitive
organization of the city ; and the lower classes counted
absolutely for nothing in that organism. The city was
CHAP. I. PATEICIANS AND CLIENTS. 301
constituted as if these classes had not existed. We
were able therefore to defer the study of these till we
Ijad arrived at the period of the revolutions.
The ancient city, like all human society, had ranks,
distinctions, and inequalities. We know the distinc-
tion originally made at Athens between tjhe Eupatnids
and the Thetes ;. at Sparta we find the class of Equals
and that of the Inferiors ; and in Eubpea, that of the
Knights and that of the People. The history of Rome
is full, of the struggles between the P-Titricians and Ple-
beians, struggles that we find in all the Sabine, Latin,
and Etruscan cities. We can even remark that the
higher we ascend in the history of Greece and, Italy^
the more profound and the more strongly marked the
distinction appears — a positive proof that the in-
equality did not grow up with time, but that it existed
from the beginning, and that it was contemporary with
the birth of cities*
It is worth while to inquire upon what principles
this division of classes rested. We can thus the more
easily see by virtue of what ideas or what needs the
struggles commenced, what the inferior classes claimed,
and on what principles the saperior classes defended
their empire.
We have seen above that t,he city grew out of the
confoderalion of families and tribes. Now, before the
day on which the city was foundecJ, the family already
contained within itself this distinction of classes. In-
deed, the family was never dismembered ; it was indivis-
ible, like the primitive religion of the hearth. The oldest
son alone, succeeding the father, took possession, of the
priesthood, the property, and the authority, and his
brothers were to him what they had been to tlieir fa-
ther. From generation to generation, from first-born
302 THE EBVOLUTIONS. BOOK IV.
to first-born, there was never but one family chief. He
presided at the sacrifice, repeated the prayer, pro-
nounced judgment, and governed. To him alone oii-
ginally belonged the title ot pater ; for this word, which
signified power, and not paternity, could be applied
only to the chief of the family. His sons, his brothers,
his servants, all called him by this title.
Here, then, in the inner constitution of the family is
the first principle of inequality. The oldest is the priv-
ileged one for the worship, for the succession, and for
command. After several centuries, there were natu-
rally formed, in each of these great families, younger
branches, that were, according to religion and by cus-
tom, inferior to the older branch, and who, living under
its protection, submitted to its authority.
This family, then, had servants, who did not leave it,
who were hereditarily attached to it, and upon whom
the pater, or patron, exercised the triple authority of
master, magistrate, and priest. They were called by
names that varied with the locality : the more common
names were Clients and Thetes.
Here was another inferior class. The client was infe-
rior not only to the supreme chief of the family, but to
the younger branches also. Between him and them
there was this difierence, that a member of a younger
branch, by ascending the series of his ancestors, always
arrived at a pater, that is to say, a family chief, one of
those divine ancestors, whom the family invoked in its
prayers. As he was descended from & pater, they called
him in Latin patricius. The son of a client, on the con-
trary, however high he might ascend in his genealogy,
never arrived at anything but a client or a slave. There
was no pater among his ancestors. Hence came for him
a state of inferiority from which there was no escape.
CHAP. I. PATRICIANS AND CLIENTS. 303
The distinction between these two classes of men
was manifest in what concerned material interests.
The property of the family belonged entirely to the
chief, who, however, shared the enjoyment of it with
the younger branches, and even with the clients. But
while the younger branch had at least an eventual right
to this property, in case of the extinction of the elder
branch, the client could never become a proprietor.
The land that he cultivated he had only in trust; if he
died, it returned to his patron ; Roman law of the later
ages preserved a vestige of this ancient rule in what
was called jvs applicationis. The client's money, even,
did not belong to him ; the patron was the true owner
of it, and could take it for his own needs. It was by
virtue of this ancient rule that the Roman law required
the client to endow the daughter of the patron, to pay
the patron's fine, and to furnish his ransom, or con-
tribute to the expenses of his magistracy.
The distinction is still more manifest in religion.
The descendant of the pater alone can perform the
ceremonies of the family worship. The client takes a
part in it; a sacrifice is offered for him; he does not
offer it for himself. Between him and the domestic
divinity thei'e is always a mediator. He cannot even
replace the absent family. If this family becomes ex-
tinct, the clients do not continue the worship ; they are
dispersed. For the religion is not their patrimony ;
it is not of their blood, it does not come from their
own ancestors. It is a borrowed religion ; they have
not the enjoyment or the ownership of it.
Let us keep in mind that according to the ideas
of ancient generations, the right to have a god and to
pray was hereditary. The sacred tradition, the rites,
the sacramental words, the powerful formulas which
304 THE EEVOLUTIONS. BOOK ly,,
detertniued the gods to act,. — all this was transmitted
only with the blood. It was therefore very natural
that in each of these ancient families, the free person
who was really descended fl'om the first ancestor,, wns
alone in possession of the sacerdotal character. The
Patricians or Eupatrids had the privilege of being
priests, and of having a religion that belonged to them
alonsv
Thus, even before men left the family state, there
existed a distinction of classes ; the old domestic re-
ligion had established ranks. Afterwards, when the
city was formed, nothing was changed in the inner con-
stitution of the family. "We have already shown that
originally the city was not an association of individuals,
but a confederation of tribes, curies, and families, and
that in this sort of alliance each of these bodies re-
mained; what it had been before. The chiefs of these
little groups united with each other, but each remakiedi
master in, the little society of which he was already
chief. This explains Why the Roman law so long left
to the paier the absolute authority over his family, and.
the control of and the right of judging his clients.
The distinction of classes, born in the family, was con-
tinued therefore in the city.
The city in its first age was no more than an alliance
of the heads of families. There are. numerous evi-
dences of a time when they alone were citizens. This
rule was kept up at Sparta, where the younger sous
had no political rights. We may still see vestiges of
it in an ancient law of Athens, which declared that to
be a citizen one must have a domestic god.' Aristotle
remarks that anciently, in many cities, it was the rule
that the son was not a citizen during the life of his
' Harpocration, Z&vi i^xeCos
CHAP. 1. PAIEICIANS AND CLIENTS. 305
father, and that,, the father being dead, the oldest son
alone enjoyed political rights.' The law then counted
in the city neither the younger branches of the family,
nor, for still stronger reason, the clients, ^-''^^tot^^
also adds that the real citizens were at that time very
few.
The assembly which deliberated on the general in-
terests of the city was composed, in those ancient times,
only of heads of families — patres. We raay be al-
lowed to doubt Cicero when he tells us that Romulus
called the senators fathers, to mark their paternal
affection for the people. The members of the senate
naturally bore this title because they were the chiefs
of the gentes. At the same time that these men,
united, represented the city, each one of them re-
mained absolute master in his gens, which was for him
a kind of little kingdoip.. We also see, from the com-
mencement of Rome, another more numerous assembly,
that of the curies ; but it differs very little, from that
of the patres. These formed the principal element of
this assembly ; only, every pater appeared .there sur-
rounded by his family ; his relatives, bis clients, even,
formed his cortege, and marked his power. Each family
had, moreover, but one vote in the comitia.* The chief
might, indeed, consult his relations, and even his clients,
but he alone voted. Besides, the law forbade a client
to have a different opinion from his patron. If the
clients were connected with the city, it was through
their patrician chiefs. They took part in public wor-
' Aristotle, Pol., VIII. 6,2-3.
' Aulus Gellius, XV. 27. We shall see that clientship under-
went changes later. We speak here only of the first ages of
Kome.
20
306 THE EEVOLTTTlOlirS. BOOK IV.
ship, they appeared before the tribunal, they entered
the assembly, but it was in the suite of their patrons.
We must not picture to ourselves the city of these an-
cient ages as an agglomeration of men living mingled
together witliin the enclosure of the same walls. In
the earliest times the city was hardly the place of hab-
itation ; it was the sanctuary where the gods of the
community were; it was the fortress which defended
them, and which their presence sanctified; it was the
centr» of the association, the residence of the king and
the priests, the place where justice was administered ;
but the people did not live there. For several genera-
tions yet men continued to live outside the city, in
isolated families, that divided the soil among them.
Each of these families occupied its canton, where it had
its domestic sanctuary, and where it formed, under the
authority of its pater, an indivisible group. Then, on
certain days, if the interests of the city or the obliga-
tions of the common worship called, the chiefs of these
families repaired to the city and assembled around the
king, either to deliberate or to assist at a sacrifice. If
it was a question of war, each of these chiefs arrived,
followed by his family and his servants (sua manus) :
they were grouped by phratries, or curies, and formed
the army of the city, under t-Le oow^^r.J jf the king.
CHAV?. n. THE PLEBEIANS. 307
CHAPTER II.
The Plebeians.
We must now point out another element of the
population, which was belo^v the clients themselves,
and which, originally low, insensibly acquired strength
enough to break the ancient social organization. This
class, which became more numerous at Rome than in
any other city, was there called the plebs. We must
understand the origin and character of this class to
understand the part it played in the history of the
city, and of the family, among the ancients. The ple-
beians were not the clients ; the historians of antiq-
uity do not confound these two classes. Livy, in one
place, says, " The plebeians did not wish to take part
in the election of the consuls; the consuls were there-
fore elected by the patricians and their clients." And
in another, " The plebeians complained that the patri-
cians had too much influence in the comitia, on account
of the votes of their clients." ' In Dionysius of Hali-
carnassus we read, " The plebeians left Rome and re-
tired to Mons Sacer; the patricians remained alone in
the city with their clients." And farther along, " The
plebeians, being dissatisfied, refused to enroll their
names. The patricians, with their clients, took arms
and carried on the war." ^ These plebeians, completely
distinct from the clients, formed no part of what was
called the Roman people, at least in the first centuries.
' Liry, 11. 64; 11.56.
' Dionysius, VI. 46 ; VII. 19 ; X. 27.
308 THE EEVOLUTIONS. BOOK IV,
In an old prayer, which was BtDl repeated in the time
of the Punic wars, the gods were asked to be propitious
" to the people and the plebs." ' The plebs were not,
therefore, comprised in the people, at any rate not
originally. The people comprised the patricians and
the clients : the plebs were excluded.
What constituted the peculiar character of' the plebs
was, that they were foreign to the religious organiza-
tion of the city, and even to that of the family. By
this we recognize the plebeian, and distinguish hira
from the client. The client shared at least in the wor-
ship of his patron, and made a part of the family and
of the gens. The plebeian, at first, had no worship,
and knew nothing of the sacred 'family.
What we have already seen of the social and religious
state of ancient times explains to us how this class
took its rise. Religion was ' not propagated ; born
in a family, it remained, as if were, shut in there ;
each family was forced to create its' creed, its gods, and
its worship. But there must have been, in those times,
so distant from us, a great number of families in which
the mind had not the power to create gods, to arrange
a doctrine, to institute a worship, to invent, hymns, and
' Livy, XXIX. 27 : Ut ea mihi populo plebique Romance bene
verruncent. Cicero, pro Murenat, I. Ut ea res mihi magistro/-
tvique m,eo, populo plebique Romance bene atque feliciter eve-
niat. Macrobius (^Saturn., I. 17) cites an ancient oracle of
the prophet Marcius, which had the words, Preetor qui jus
populo plebique dabit. That ancient writers have not always
paid attention to this essential distinction between populus and
plebs ought not to surprise us, when we recollect that the dis-
tinction no longer existed at the time when they wrote. In
Cicero's age the plebs had for several centuries legally made a
part of the populus. But the old formulas wliich Livy, Cicero,
and Macrobius' citej remain as memorials of the time when the
two classes were not yet confounded.
CHAP. II. THE PLEBEIANS. 309
the rhythm of the prayer. These families naturally
found themselves in a state of inferiority compared
with those who had a. religion, and could not make a
part of society with them ; they entered neither into
the curies nor into the city. In the course of time it
even happened that families which had a religion lost
it either by negligence, forgetting the rites, or by one
of those crimes which prevented a man from approach-
ing his hearth and continuing his worship. It must
have happened, also, that clients, on account of crime
or bad treatment, c^uitted the family and renounced its
religion. The son, too, who was born of a marriage in
which the rites had not been performed, was reputed a
bastard, like one who had been born of adultery, and
the family religion did not exist for him. All these
men, excluded from the family and from the worship,
fell into the class of men without a sacred fire — that
is to say, became plebeians.
We find this class around almost all the ancient cities,
but separated hyaline of demarcation. Originally a
Greek city was double ; there was the city, properly so
called — n6hg, which was built ordinarily on the sum-
mit of some hill; it had been built with the religious
rites, and enclosed the sanctuary of the national gods.
At the foot of the hill was found an agglomeration of
houses, which were built without any religious ceremo-
ny, and without a sacred enclosure. These were the
dwellings of the plebeians, who could not live in the
sacred city.
At Rome the difference between the, two classes was
striking. The city of the patricians and their clients
was the one that Romulus founded, according to the
rites, on the Palatine. The dwellings of the plebs were
in the asylum, a species of enclosure situated on the
310 THE EEVOLUTIONS. BOOK IV
slope of. the Capitoline Hill, where Romulus admitted
people without hearth or home, whom he could not
admit into his city. Later, when new plebeians came
to Rome, as they were strangers to the religion of the
city, they were established on the Aventine — that is
to say, without the ponioerium, or religious city.
One word characterizes these plebeians — they were
without a hearth ; they did not possess, in the begin-
ning, at least, any domestic altars. Their adversaries
were always reproaching them with having no ances-
tors, which certainly meant that they had not the wor-
ship of ancestors, and had no family tomb where they
could carry their funeral repast. They had no father —
foter ; that is to say, they ascended the series of their
ascendants in vain ; they never arrived at a religious
family chief They had no family — gentem non
habent ; that is to say, they had only the natural fam-
ily; as to the one which religion formed and consti-
tuted, they had not that.
The sacred marriage did not exist for them ; they
knew not its Vites. Having no hearth, the union that
the hearth established was forbidden to them ; there-
fore the patricians, who knew no other regular union
than that which united husband and wife in presence
of the domestic divinity, could say, in speaking of the
plebeians, " Cormuhia promiscua habent more fera-
rum." There was no family for them, no paternal
authority. They had the power over their children
which strength gave them ; but that sacred authority
with which religion clothed the father, they had not.
For them there was no right of property ; for all
property was established and consecrated by a hearth,
a tomb, and termini — that is to say, by all the ele-
ments of the domestic worship. If the plebeian po3>
CHAP. 11. THE PLEBEIANS. 311
sessed land, that land had no sacred charticter ; it was
profane, and had no boundaries. But could he hold
land in the earliest times? We know that at Rome
no one could exercise the right of property if he was
not a citizen ; and the plebeian, in the first ages of
Rome, was not a citizen. According to the juris-
consult, one could not be a proprietor except by qui-
ritary - right ; but the plebeians were not counted at
first among the Quirites. At the foundation of Rome
the ager Momanus was divided up among the tribes,
the curies, and the gentes. Now, the plebeians, who
belonged to none of these groups, certainly did not
share in the division. These plebeians, who had no
religion, had not the qualification which enabled a man
to make a portion of the soil his own. We know that
they long inhabited the Aventine, and built houses
there; but it was only after three centuries, and many
struggles, that they finally obtained the ownership of
this territory.
For the plebeians there was no law, no justice, since
the law was the decision of religion, and the procedure
was a body of rites. The client had the benefit..of the
Roman franchise thi'ough his patron ; but for the ple-
beian this right did not exist. An ancient historian
says formally that the sixth king of Rome was the first
to make laws for the plebs, whilst the patricians had
had theirs for'a long time.' It appears even that these
laws were afterwards withdrawn from the plebs, oi' that,
not being founded upon religion, the patricians refused
to pay any attention to them. For we see in the liisto-
rian that, when tribunes were created, a special law
was required to protect their lives and liberty, and thai
' Dionysius, IV. 43.
312 THE EEVOLUTIONS. BOOK IV.
this law was worded thus : " Let no one undertake to
strike or kill a tribune as he would one of the plebs." '
It seems, therefore, that any one had a right to strike
or to kill a plebeian ; or, at least, that this misdeed
committed against a man who was beyond the pale of
the law was not punished.
The plebeians had no political rights. They were
not at first citizens, and no one among them could be
a magistrate. For two centuries there was no other
assembly at Rome than that of the curies; and the
curies did not include the plebeians. The plebs did not
even enter into the composition of the army so long as
that was distributed by curies.
But what manifestly separated the plebeian from the
patrician was, that the plebeian had no part in the re-
ligion of the city. It was impossible for him to fill
the priestly office. We may even suppose that in the
earliest ages prayer was forbidden him, and that the
rites could not be revealed to him. It was as in India
where " the Sudra should always be ignorant of the
sacred formulas." He was a foreigner, and consequently
his presence alone defiled the sacrifice. He was re-
pulsed by the gods. Between him and the patrician
there was all the distance that religion could place
between two men. The plebs were a despised and
abject class, beyond the pale of religion, law, society,
and the family. The patrician could compare such an
existence only with that of the brutes — moreferarum.
The touch of the plebeian was impure. The decem-
virs, in their first ten tables, had forgotten to interdict
marriage between the two orders ; for these first de-
cemvirs were all patricians, and it never entered the
' DionyBias, VI. 89.
CHAP. n. THE PLEBEIANS, 313
mind of one of them that such a marriage was pos-
sible.
We see how many classes in the primitive age of
the cities were superposed one above another. At the
head was the aristocracy of family chiefs, those whom
the official language of Rome called patres, whom the
clients called reges, whom the Odyssey names ^itOtleXg
or &vaxTEg. Below were the younger branches of the
families ; still lower were the clients ; and lowest were
the plebs.
This distinction of classes came from religion. For
at the time when the ancestors of the Greeks, the
Italians, and the Hindus still lived together in Central
Asia, religion had said, " The oldest shall offer prayer."
From this came the pre-eminence of the oldest in every-
thing ; the oldest branch in every family had been the
sacerdotal and dominant branch. Still religion made
great account of the younger branches, who were a
species of reserve, to replace the older branch some
day, if it should become extinct, and to save the wor-
ship. It also made some account of the client, and
even of the slave, because they assisted. in the religious
acts. But the plebeian, who had no part in the wor-
ship, it reckoned as absolutely of no account. The
ranks had been thus fixed.
But none of the social arrangements which man
studies out and establishes is unchangeable. This car-
ried in itself the germ of disease and death, which was
too great an inequality. Many men had an interest in
destroying a social organization that had no benefits
for them.
314 THE EEVOLtJXIONS. BOOK IV.
CHAPTER III.
First Bevolutiou.
1. Political Authority taken from the Mings.
We have said that, originally, the king was the
religious chief of the city, the high-priest of the public
hearth, and that he had added political authority to
the priestly, hecause it appeared natural that the man
who represented the religion of the city should at the
same time be the president of the assembly, the judge,
and the head of the army. By virtue of this principle,
it happened that all the powers of the state became
united in the hands of the king.
But the heads of families, the j9a<res, and above them
the chiefs of the phratries and tribes, formed, by the
side of this king, a very powerful aristocracy. The king
was not the only king; every /later was king in his own
gens: even at Rome it was an ancient custom to call
each one of these powerful patrons by the name of king.
At Athens every phratry and every tribe had its chief,
and by the side of the king of the city there were the
kings of the tribes, (pvKo^aadei;. It was a hierarchy of
chiefs, all having, in a more or less extended domain,
the same attributes and the same inviolability. The
king of the city did not exercise his authority over the
entire population ; the interior of families and all the
clients escaped his action. Like the feudal king who
had as subjects only a few powerful vassals, this king
of the ancient city commanded only the chiefs of the
tribes and the gentes, each one of whom might be in-
CHAP, m, EIEST EEVOLUTION. 315
dividually as powerful as he, and who, united, were
much more powerful. We can easily believe that he
had some difficulty in commanding obedience. Men
would have great respect for him, because he was the
head of the worship, and guardian of the sacred hearth;
but they might not be very submissive, since he had
little power. The governors and the governed were
not long in perceiving that they were not of the same
opinion on the measure of obedience that was due.
The kings wished to be powerful, and the patres pre-
ferred that they should not be. A struggle then com-
menced in all the cities, between the aristocracy and
the kings.
Everywhere the issue of the struggle was the same.
Royalty was vanquished. But we must not forget that
this primitive royalty was sacred. The king was the
man who pronounced the prayers, who offered the sacri-
fice, who had, in fine, by hereditary right, the power
to call down upon the city the protection of the gods.
Men could not think, therefore, of doing away with
the king ; one was necessary to their religion ; one was
necessary to the safety of the city. So we see in all
the cities whose history is known to us, that they did
not at first touch the religious authority of the king,
and contented themselves with taking away his politi-
cal power. This was only a sort of appendix, whieii
the kings had added to their priesthood, and was not,
like that, sacred and inviolable. It might be taken
from the kings without imperilling religion.
Royalty was, therefore, preserved ; but, shorn of its
power, it was no longer anything but a priesthood.
"In very ancient times,'' says Aristotle, "kings had
absolute power in peace and war ; but in the course
of time some renounced this power voluntarily, from
316 THE EBVOLFTIONS. BOOK IV
Others it was taken by force, and nothing was left to
these kings but the care of the sacrifices." Plutarch
gives a similar account : "As the kings displayed pride
and rigor in their commands, the greater part of the
Greeks took away their power, and left them only the
care of religion." ' Herodotus, speaking of the city of
Gyrene, says, "They left to Battus, a descendant of the
kingSj the care of the worship and the possession of
the sacred lands, but they took away all the power
which his fathers had enjoyed."
This royalty, thus reduced to a priesthood, con-
tinued, in most cases, to be hereditary in the sacred
family that had long before established the hearth and
commenced the national worship. In the time of the
Roman empire — that is to say, seven or eight centuries
after this revolution, — there were yet at Ephesus, at
Marseilles, and at Thespjae,, families who preserved
the title and insignia of ancient royalty, and who still
presided over religious ceremonies.' In the other cities
the saci'ed families were extinct, and the kingly office
had become elective, and generally annual.
2. History of this Revolution at Sparta.
Sparta always had kings, and still the revolution of
which we speak was accomplished here as well as in
the other cities.
It appears that the first Dorian kings reigned as
absolute masters. But in the third generation the
struggle commenced between the kings and the aris-
tocracy. During two centuries there was a series of
struggles, which made Sparta one of the most un-
' Aristotle, Politics, III. 9, 8. Plutarch, Rom. Quest., 63.
* Strabo, IV. ; IX. Diodorus, IV. 29.
CHAP. III. FIRST EBVOLOTION. 317
quiet cities in Greece. We know that one of these
kings, the father of Lycurgusj was killed by the blow
of a stone in a civil war.'
Nothing is more obscure than the history of Lycur-
gus. His ancient biographer commences with these
words: " We can say nothing of him that Is not subject
to controversy." ■ It seems certain, at least, that Lycur-
gus appeared in a time of dissensions, " at a time when
the government floated in the midst of perpetual agita-
tion." What appears the most clearly from all the in-
formation that has come down to us concerning him,
is, that his reform dealt loyalty a blow from which' it
never recovered. "Under Charilaus," says Aristotle,
"the monarchy gave place to an aristocracy."* Now,
this Charilaus was king when Lycurgus made his re-
form. We know, moreover, from Plutarch, ■that Lycur-
gus was intrusted with the duty of making laws only
when a civil disturbance arose, during which king
Charilaus sought safety in a temple. Lycurgus had
for a moment the power to suppress royalty : he took
good care not to do this, judging that royalty was
necessary, and the royal family inviolable. But he
arranged so that the kings, were thenceforth subordinate
to the senate in whatever concerned the government,
and that they were no longer anything more than
presidents of this assembly, and the executors of its
decrees. A century later, royalty was still farther
weakened; the executive power was taken away and,
was intrusted to annual magistrates, who were called
ephors.
' Strabo, VIII. 6. Plutarch, Lycurgus, 2.
" Aristotle, Politics, VIII. 10, 3 (V. 10). Heracleides of
Pontus, in Fragm. Eist. Graf., coll. Didot, t. II. p. 11. Plu-
tarch, Lycurgus, 4.
318 THE KB VOLUTIONS. BOOK IV.
It is easy to judge by the duties of the ephors what
those were that were left to the king. The ephors
pronounced judgment in civil cases, while the senate
tried criminal cases. The ephors, with the advice of
the senate, declared war, or settled the articles of
treaties of peace. In time of war two ephors accom-
panied the king and watched over him ; they decided
on the plan of the campaign, and superintended all the
operations.' What remained, then, for the kings, if
the law, the foreign relations, and military operations
were taken from them ? They had the priesthood left.
Herodotus describes their prerogatives: "If the city
offers a sacrifice, they have the first place at the sa-
cred repast ; they are served first, and have a double
portion. They are the first also to make a libation,
and the skins of the victims belong to them. Each
one receives, twice a month, a victim, which he sacri-
fices to Apollo." ' "The kings,'' says Xeiiophon, " offer
the public sacrifices, and they have the best parts of
the victims." If they did not act as judges either in
civil or in criminal affairs, they still had reserved to
them the right of deciding in all affairs which con-
cerned religion. In case of war, one of the kings always
proceeded at the head of the troops, offering sacrifices
and consulting the presages. In presence of the enemy
' Thucydides, V. 63. Hellanicus, II. 4. Xenophon, Gov. of
Laced., 14 (13); Hett., VI. 4. Plutarch, Agesilaus, 10, 17, 23,
28 ; Lysander, 23. The king had so little, of his own right, the
direction of military affairs, that a special act of the senate was
necessary to confirm the command of the army to Agesilaus,
who thus united exceptionally the functions of king and general.
Plutarch, Agesilaus, 6 ; Lysander, 23. It had been the same
previously,, in the case of king Pausanias. Thucydides. I. 128.
« Herodotus, VI. 66, 67.
CHAP. III. FIRST EEVOLUTIOIT. 319
he slew victims, and when the signs were favorable, he
gave the signal for battle. During the combat he was
surrounded by diviners, who indicated to him the will
of tbj gods, and flute-players, who sounded the sa-
cred hymns. The Spartans said the king commanded,
because he was in possession of both religion and the
auspices ; but the ephors and the polemarchs directed
all the movements of the army.*
We can therefore justly say that the royalty of
Sparta was merely an hereditary priesthood. The same
revolution which suppressed the political power of the
kings in other cities suppressed it also in Sparta. The
power belonged really to the senate, which directed,
and to the ephors, who executed. The kings, in all
that did not concern religion, obeyed the ephors. He-
rodotus could therefore say that Sparta did not know
the monarchical regime ; and Aristotle, that the gov-
ernment of Sparta was an aristocracy.'
3. The same Mevolution at Athens.
We have seen above what the primitive population
of Attica was. A certain number of families, indepen-
dent and without any bond of union among them,
occupied the country ; each one of them formed a
society, governed by an hereditary chief. Later these
families were united in groups, and from their associa-
tion grew the Athenian city. The great work of com-
pleting the unity of Attica is attributed to Theseus.
But the traditions add — and we can easily believe —
that Theseus must have met with strong resistance. The
class of men who opposed him were not the clients, or
' Xenophon, Gov. of Laced.
« Herodotus, V. 92. Aristotle, Politics, VIII. 10 (V. 10).
320 THE EBVOLTJTIONS. BOOK IV.
the poor, who were scattered about in the villages and
the yipyj. These men rejoiced, rather, at a change
which gave a chief to their chiefs, and assured to them-
selves a refuge and a protection. The ones who suf-
fered by the change were the chiefs of families, and the
chiefs of villages and tribes, the daaiUXg, cpvlo^ucnurg,
those Eupatrids who, by hereditary right, held the
supreme authority in their yivng, or in their tribe.
These stoutly defended their independence, and when
it was lost they lamented its loss.
At any rate they retained all they could of their an-
cient independence. Each remained the absolute chief
of his tribe, or of his yii'os. Theseus could not destroy
an authority which religion had established, and which
it rendered inviolable. Still further, if we examine the
traditions which relate to this epoch, we shall see that
these powerful Eupatrids agreed to associate for the
purpose of forming a city only after stipulating that
the government should be really federative, anci that
each one of themselves should have a part in it. There
was, indeed, a supreme king ; but as soon as the com-
mon interest was at stake, the assembly of the chiefs
was convoked, and nothing of importance conjld be
done without the consent of this species of a senate.
These traditions, in the language of succeeding gen-
erations, were expressed somewhat after this, manner:
" Theseus changed the government of Athens from a
monarchy to a republic." This is the account of Aris-
totle, Isocrates, Demosthenes, and Plutarch.. In this
somewhalt deceptive statement there is a foundation of
truth. Theseus did, indeed, as tradition says, " restore
the sovereign authority to the hands of the people."
Only the word people, Sriuog, which the tradition has
preserved, had not, in the time of Theseus, so extended
CHAP. ni. THE FIRST REVOLUTION. 321
an application as it had in the time of Demosthenes.
This people, or political body, was then no other thnn
an aristocracy — that is to say, the entire body of the
chiefs of the yivrj.
Theseus, in establishing this assembly, was not neces-
sarily an innovator. But in spite of him the forma-
tion of the great Athenian unity changed the condi-
tions of the government. As soon as these Eupatrids,
whose authority remained intact in the families, were
united in the same city, they formed a powerful body,
which had its rights, and might make its claims. Tiie
king of the little rock of Cecrops became the king of
all Attica ; but instead of being, as in his little village, an
absolute king, he was now only the chief of a federative
state — that is to say, the first among equals. A con-
flict between this aristocracy and royalty could not be
long delayed. "The Eupatrids regretted the really
royal power which each one of them had previously
exercised in his village. It appears that these war-
rior priests placed religion in the front rank, and pi-e-
tended that the authority of the local worships had
been diminished. If it is true, as Thucydides says, that
Theseus attempted to destroy the prytanea of the vil-
lages, it is not surprising that the religious sentiment
was aroused against him. It is impossible to say how
many contests he had to sustain, how many risings he
had to repress, by address or by force. What is cer-
tain is, that he was finally vanquished ; that he was
driven from Athens, and died in exile.
The Eupatrids then had full sway; they did not
suppress royalty, but they set up a king of their choice,
Menestheus. After him, the family of Theseus recov-
ered the power, and held it during three generations.
It was then replaced by another family-:— that of the
21
322 THE EEVOLniONS. BOOK IV.
MelanthidaB. This whole period must have been very
unquiet; but no definite account of the cjvil wars has
been preserved.
The death of Codrus coincides with the final victory
of the Eupatrids. They did not yet suppress royalty,
for their religious notions forbade this ; but they took
away its political power. The traveller Pausanias,
who lived long after these events, but who carefully
consulted the traditions, says that royalty then lost a
great part of its attributes, and " became dependent,"
which signifies, doubtless, that it was thenceforth sub-
ordinate to the senate of the Eupatrids. Modern histo-
rians call this period of Athenian history that of the
archonships, and rarely fail to say that royalty was
then abolished. But this is not strictly true. The
descendants of Codrus succeeded each other from
father to son during thirteen generations. They had
the title of archon, but there are ancient documents
which give them also that of king,' and we have
already said that these two titles were exactly synony-
mous. Athens, therefore, during this long period, still
had hereditary kings; but it had taken away their
power, and had left them only the religious functions.
This is what had been done at Sparta.
At the end of three centuries, the Eupatrids found
that this religious royalty was still more powerful than
they desired, and they weakened it still more. They
decided that the same man should not be clothed with
this high sacerdotal dignity for more than ten years
But they continued to believe that the ancient royal
family was alone qualified to fill the office of archon.''
" See Parian Marbles, and Comp. Pausanias, I, 3, 2 ; VII. 2,
I; Plato, Menexenes, p. 238, c. ; ^lian, V. H., V. 13.
" Pausanias, IV. 3.
CHAP. ni. FIRST REVOLUTION. 323
About forty years passed thus. But one day the'
royal family was stained with a crime, and men thought
it could no longer fill the priestly office ; ' that thence-
forth the archons should be chosen outside this family,
and that this dignity should be accessible to all the
Eupatrids. Forty years later, in order to enfeeble this
royalty, or to distribute it into more hands, they made
it annual, and divided it into two distinct magistracies.
Tip to that time the archon was at the same time king;
but thenceforth these two titles were separated. A mag-
istrate called an archon, and another magistrate called
a king, shared the attributes of the ancient religious
royalty. The duty of watching over the perpetuation
of families, of authorizing or forbidding adoption, of
receiving wills, of deciding questions relating to real
property — everything in which religion was interest-
ed — devolved upon the archon. The duty of offering
the solemn sacrifices, and that of judging cases of
impiety, were reserved to the kings. Thus the title
of king — a sacred title, which was necessary to religion
— was perpetuated in the city with the sacrifices and
the national worship. The king and the archon, to-
gether with the polemarch and the six thesmothetse,
who had perhaps existed for a long time, completed
the number of nine annual magistrates, whom it was
the custom to call the nine archons, from the name of
the first among them.
The revolution that took from royalty its political
power, was carried through under different forms in all
the cities. At Argos, from the second generation of
Dorian kings, royalty was so weakened "that there was
' Heracleidesof Pontus, I. 3. Nicholas of Damascus, Fragm.
51.
324 THE REVOLUTIONS. BOOK IV.
left to the descendants of Temenus only the name of
king, without any power ; " still this royalty remained
heveditary during several centuries.' At Cyrene the
descendants of Battus at first united in their hands the
priesthood and the political power ; but after the fourth
generation nothing was left them but the priesthood.'
At Corinth royalty was at first transmitted heredita-
rily in the family of the Bacchidae. The effect of the
revolution was to render the office annual, but without
taking it from this family, whose members held it by
turns for a century.
4. The same HevoluHon at Home.
At first, royalty was at Rome what it had been in
Greece. The king was the high priest of the city ; he
was at the same time the supreme judge ; he also com-
manded the armed citizens. Next to him were the
patres, who formed a senate. ■ There was but one king,
because religion enjoined unity in the priesthood and
unity in the government. But it was understood that
on all important affairs the king must consult the heads
of the confederated families.' From this time histo-
rians mention an assembly of the people. But we
must inquire what was then the meaning of the word
people (populifs), that is to say, what was the body
politic in the time of the first kings. All the witnesses
agree that the people always assembled by curies ; now
the curies were the collection of the gentes ; every
gens repaired there in a body, and had but one vote.
The clients were there, ranged round the paterj con-
' Fausanias, II. 19.
' Herodotus, IV. 161. Diodorus, VIII.
• Cicero, Ve Repuh., II. 8.
CHAP, in. riEST EEVOLUTIOIT. 325
suited perhaps, perhaps giving their advice, contribut-
ing towards the single vote which the gens cast, but
with no power to give an opinion contrary to that
of the pater. This assembly of the curies was, then,
nothing but the patrician city united in j)resence of the
kings.
By this we see that Rome was in the same state as
the other cities. The king was in the presence of an
aristocratic body very strongly organized, and which
derived its power from religion. The same conflicts
which we have seen in Greece, therefore, took place in
Rome. The history of the seven kings is the history
of this long quarrel. The first wished to increase his
power and free himself from the authority of the sen-
ate. He sought the favor of the inferior classes, but
the Fathers were hostile to him ; and he perished, as-
sassinated in an assembly of the senate.
The aristocracy immediately dream of abolishing
royalty, and the Fathers fill by turns the place of the
king. The lower classes are agitated, it is true ; they
do not wish to be governed by the chiefs of the gentes,
and demand the restoration of royalty.' But the patri-
cians satisfy themselves by deciding that henceforth it
shall be elective, and they fix the forms of election with
marvellous skill. The senate must choose the candi-
date ; the patrician assembly of the curies must eon-
firm this choice ; and, finally, the patrician augurs must
declare whether this newly-elected king is pleasing to
the gods.
Niima was elected according to these rules. He was
very religious — rather a priest than a warrior, a very
scrupulous observer of all the rites of worship, and
' Livy, I. Cicero, De Repuh., II.
326 THE RBTOLUTIONS. BOOK IV.
consequently very strongly attached to the religious
constitution of the families and the city. He was a
king after the hearts of the patricians, and died peacea-
bly in his bed.
It should seem that, under Numa, royalty had been
reduced to its priestly functions, as it had been in the
Greek cities. It is at least certain that the religious
authority of the king was entirely distinct from his
political, and that one did not necessarily accompany
the other. What proves this is, that there was a
double election. By virtue of the first, the king was
merely a religious chief; if to this dignity he wished to
join the political power, imperium, it was necessary
that the city should confer it upon him by a special
decree. This conclusion follows clearly from what
Cicero has told us of the ancient constitution. Thus
the priesthood and the political power were distinct ;
they might be placed in the same hands, but for that
two comitia and a double election were necessary.
The third king certainly united them in his own
hands. He held both the priestly office and the com-
mand ; he was even more warrior than priest ; he
neglected, and wished to diminish, the religious element,
the strength of the aristocracy. We see him welcome
a multitude of strangers to Rome, in spite of the reli-
gious principle which excluded them ; he even dai-ed to
live in the midst of them on the Caelian Hill. We also
see him distribute to plebeians lands, the revenue of
which, up to that time, had been appropriated to de-
fraying the expenses of the sacrifices. The patricians
accused him of having neglected the rites, and, what
was even worse, of having modified and altered them.
And so he died like Romulus ; the gods of the patricians
destroyed him and his sons with a thunderbolt. This
CHAP. III. riESl EBVOLnxiON. 327
event restored the supremacy to the senate, which set
up a king of its own choice. Ancus scrupulously ob-
served all the religious rites, made war as seldom as
possible, and passed his life in the temples. Dear to
the patricians, he died in his bed.
The fifth king was Tarquin, who obtained the throne
in spite of the senate, and by the help of the lower
classes. He was troubled little with religious scruples ;
indeed, he was very incredulous ; nothing less than a
miracle could convince him of the science of the augurs.
He was an enemy of the ancient families ; he created
patricians, and changed the old religious constitution
of the city as much as possible. Tarquin was assassi-
nated.
The sixth king gained possession of the throne by
stratagem : it should seem, indeed, that the senate
never recognized him as a legitimate king. He flat-
tered the lower classes, distributed lands among them
without regard to the rights df property, and even con-
ferred political rights upon them. Servius was mur-
dered on the steps of the senate house.
The quarrel between the kings and the aristocracy
assumed the character of a social struggle. The kings
sided with the people, and depended for support upon
the clients and the plebs. To the patrician order, so
powerfully organized, they opposed the lower classes,
so numerous at Rome. The aristocracy then found
itself threatened by a double peril, the worst of which
was not the necessity of giving way before royalty. It
saw rising in its rear the classes that it despised. It
saw the plebs organizing, a class without religion and
without a sacred fire. It saw itself in danger of being
attacked by its clients, within the family itselfj whose
consiitution, rights, and religion were discussed and
328 THE EEVOLUTIONS. BOOK IV.
jeopardized. In the eyes of the aristocracy, therefore,
the kings were odious enemies, who, to augment theii
own power, were planning to overthrow the sacred
organization of the family and of the city.
The second Tarquin succeeded Servius; he disap-
pointed the hopes of the senators who had elected him,
an d wished to be ni aster — de rege dominus exstitit. He
weakened the patricians to the extent of his power;
he struck off the highest heads; reigned without con-
sulting the Fathers, and made war and peace without
asking their approval. The patricians seemed com-
pletely subdued.
Finally, an occasion presented itself. Tarquin was
iar from Rome ; his army — that is to say, his support —
was also away. The city was, for a time, in the hands
of the patriciiuis. The prefect of the city — that is
to say, the one who held the civil power during the
absence of tlie king — was a patrician, Lucretius. The
commander of the cavalry — that is to say, the one
whose military authority was next to that of the king
— was a patrician, Junius.' These two men prepared
the insurrection. They had, as associates, other pa-
tricians, Valerius and Tarquinius Collatinns. The
place of meeting was not at Rome, but at the little
city of CoUatia, which was the property of one of the
conspirators. There they showed the people the body
of a woman ; they said this woman had taken her own
life as a punishment for the crime of a son of the king.
The people of Collatia revolt and move on to Rome ;
there the same scene is renewed. Men are taken by
suiprise ; the king's partisans are disconcerted, and be-
sides, at this very moment, the legal power in Rome
belongs to Junius and Lucretius.
' The Junian family was patrician. Dionysius, IV. 68.
CHAP. III. FIEST REVOLUTION. 329
The conspirators take good care not to assemble the
people, but to repair to the senate house. The senate
declares Tarquin dethroned and royalty abolished. But
the decree of the senate must be confirmed by the city.
Lucretius, as prefect of the city, has the right to con-
voke the assembly. The curies are assembled, and they
agree with the conspirators ; they declare for the dep-
osition of Tarquin, and the creation of two consuls.
This principal point being decided, they leave the
nomination of the consuls to the assembly by centuries.
But will not this assembly, in which some plebeians
vote, protest against what the patricians have done in
the senate and the curies? It cannot. For every
Roman assembly is presided over by a magistrate, who
states the object of the vote, and no other question can
come up for deliberation. More than this, none but
the president at this period has the right to speak.
If a law is to be voted upon, the centuries can vote
only yes or no. If it is an election, the president pre-
sents the candidates, and no candidate except those
presented can be voted for. In the present case, the
president appointed by the senate is Lucretius, one of
the conspirators. He states that the only object of the
meeting is the election of two consuls. He presents
two names, those of Junius and Tarquinius Collatinus,
as candidates for the office. These two men are neces-
sarily elected. The senate now ratify the election, and
lastly the augurs confirm it in the name of the gods.
This revolution did not please every body at Rome.
Many plebeians joined the king, and followed his for-
tunes. On the other hand, a rich Sabine patrician, the
powerful chief of a numerous gens, the haughty Attus
Clausus, found the new government so much to his taste
that he came to Rome to live.
330 THE KEVOLUTIONS. BOOK IV.
Still it was political royalty only that was suppressed :
religious royalty was sacred, and must endure. There-
fore men hastened to name a king, but one who was
king only for the sacrifices — rex sacrorum. All im-
aginable precautions were taken that this king-priest
should never take advantage of the great prestige
which his office gave him, and seize upon the civi'
power.
CHAPTER IV.
The Aristocracy governs the City.
The same revolution, under forms slightly varied,
took place at Athens, at Sparta, at Rome, in all the
cities, in fine, whose history is known to us. Every-
where it was the work of the aristocracy ; everywhere
it resulted in suppressing political royalty and con-
tinuing religious royalty. From this "epoch, during a
period wkose duration was very unequal in different
cities, the government of the city was in the hands of
the aristocracy.
This aristocracy rested at the same time on birth and
religion. It had its foundation in the religious con-
stitution of the family. It originated in the same rules
that we have noticed above, in the domestic worship
and in private law — that is to say, the law of the
hereditary descent of the sacred fire, the right of pri-^
mogeuiture, and the right of pronouncing the prayei-s,
which was the prerogative of birth. An hereditary
religion was the title of this aristoci'acy to absolute
dominion, and gave it rights that appeared sacred.
According to ancient ideas, he alone could be an owner
CHAP. IV. THE AEISTOCEACT G0VEEN8. 331
of land who had a domestic worship ; he alone was a
member of the city who embodied the religious char-
acter which constituted the citizen ; he alone could be
a priest who was a descendant of a family having. a wor-
ship ; be alone could be a magistrate who had the right
to offer the sacrifices. A man who had no hereditary
worship might be the client of another man ; or, if he
preferred it, he could remain without the pale of all soci-
ety. For many generations it did not enter the minds
of men that this inequality was unjust. No one had
thought of establishing human society upon any other
principles.
At Athens, from the death of Codrus to the time of
Solon, all authority was in the hands of the E.apatrids.
They alone were priests and archons. They alone acted
as judges, and knew the laws, which were not written,
and whose sacred formulas were transmitted from
father to son.
These families preserved as much as possible the an-
cient forms of the patriarchal regime. They did not
live united in the city, but continued to live in the
various cantons of Attica, each on its vast domain,
surrounded by its numerous servants, governed by its
Eupatrid chiefj and practising its hereditary worship
in absolute independence.' During four centuries the
Atlienian city was merely a confederation of these
powerful heads of families, who assembled on certain
days for the celebration of the central worship, or for
the pursuit of common interests.
Men have often remarked how mute history is re-
garding this long period in the life of Athens, and in
general in the lite of Greek cities. They are surprised
' Thttoydides, II. 15, 16.
332 THE EBVOLCTIOXS. BOOK I\.
that, when it has preserved the memory of so many
events from the times of the ancient kiugs, it has re-
corded so few of the time of the aristocratic govern-
ments. The reason is doubtless because at that time
very few acts of general interest took place. The re-
turn of the patriarchal regime had almost suspended
the national life. Men lived ajiart, and had few com-
mon interests. The horizon of each one was the small
group and the small hamlet where he lived, as Eupatrid
or as servant.
At Rome, too, each patrician family lived upon its
estate, surrounded by its clients. Men came to the city
to celebrate the festivals of the public worship, and for
the public assemblies. During the years that followed
the expulsion of the kings, the power of the aristocracy
was absolute. None but a patrician could fill the
priestly oflBce in the city ; the vestals, the pontiffs, the
salii, the flamens, and the augurs, were chosen exclu-
sively from the sacred caste. Patricians alone could
be consuls-; they alone composed the senate. Though
they did not suppress the assembly by centuries, to
which the plebeians had access, they at any rate re-
garded the assembly by curies as the only one that was
legitimate and sacred. The centuries had, in appear-
ance, the election of the consuls ; but we have seen
that they could vote only on the names that the pa-
tricians presented, and, besides, their decisions were
submitted to the triple ratification of the senate, the
curies, and the augurs. Patricians alone administered
justice, and knew the forms of the law.
This political system lasted at Rome only a few
years. In Greece, on the contrary, there was a long
period during which the aristocracy was master. The
Odyssey presents us with a faithful picture of this
CHAP. IV. THE ARISTOCRACY GOVERNS. 333
Bocial state in the -western portion of Greece. We see
there a patriarchal regime strongly resembling what
we have remarked in Attica. A few great and rich
families own the whole country. Numerous slaves cul-
tivate the soil, or tend the flocks ; the manner of living
is simple — a single table suffices for the chief and
the servants. These chiefs are called by a name which
becomes, under other circumstances, a pompous title —
&iiaxTes, ^aadeig. Thus it happened that the Athenians
of primitive times gave the chief of the yifog the title
of ^aadeig, and that at Rome the clients preserved
the custom of calling the chief of the gens rex. These
heads of families have a sacred character ; the poet
calls them divine kings, Ithaca is very small, yet it
contains a great number of these kings. Among them
there is indeed a supreme king ; but he is of little im-
portance, and appears to have no other prerogative
than that of presiding at the council of the chiefs. It
appears, even, from certain indications, that this office
is elective, and it is clear the Telemachus will not be
the supreme chief of the isle, unless the other chiefs,
his equals, wish to elect him. Ulysses, returning to
his country, appears to have no other subjects than the
servants who belong to him personally. When he has
slain some of the chiefs, their servants take up arms
and sustain a contest which the poet does not think
blameworthy. Among the Phaeacians, Alcinous has
supreme authority ; but we see him repair to an assem-
bly of the chiefs ; and we may remark that he does
not convoke the council, but that the council summons
the king. The poet describes an assembly of the Phaea-
cian city. It is far from being an assembly of the mul-
titude; the chiefs alone, individually convoked by a
herald, as at Rome for the comitia calata, assemble ;
334 THB EBVOLUTIONS. BOOK IV.
they occupy seats of stone; the king makes an addressj
and calls his auditors sceptre-bearing kings.
In Hesiod's city, the rocky Ascra, we find a class of
men whom the poet calls the chiefs, or kings. They
are those who administer justice to the people. Pin-
dar also shows us a class of chiefs among the Cadmae-
aus ; at Thebes he extols the sacred race of th^ Sparti,
from which, at a later date, Epaminondas derives his
descent. We can hardly read Pindar without being
struck with the aristocratic spirit which still reigned in
Greek society in the time of the Persian wars. Prom
this we may imagine how powerful the aristocracy was
a century or two earlier. For what the poet boasts
of the most in his heroes, is their family ; and we must
suppose that this sort of praise was at that time highly
valued, and that birth still seemed the supreme good.
Pindar shows us the great families which were then
conspicuous in each city; in the single city of ^gina
he names the MidylidsB, the Theandridse, the Euxenidae,
the Blepsiadse, the Chariadse, the Balychidse. At Syra-
cuse he extols a priestly family of the lamidas ; at Ag-
rigentum, that of the Emmenidse, and so on for all the
cities of which he has occasion to speak.
At Epidaurus, the entire body of the citizens — ^that
is to say, of those who had political rights — was for a
long time composed of no more than one hundred and
eighty members. All the rest "were outside the
city." ' The real citizens were still fewer at Heraclea,
where the younger members of the great families had
no political rights." The case was a long time the
same at Cnidus, at Istros, and at Marseilles. At Thera
' Plutarch, Gr. Quest., I.
' Aristotle, Politics, VIII. 6, 2.
CHAP. IV. THE AEISTOCEACT GOV^EENS. 335
all the power was in the hands of a few families which
■were reputed sacred. It was the same at Apollonia.'
At Erythrse there was an aristocratic class called the
Basilidse. In the cities of Eubcea the ruling class
were called the knights.* We may remark here that
among the ancients, as in the middle ages, it was a
privilege to fight on horseback.
The monarchy had already ceased to exist at Corinth
when a colony set out from there to found Sj racuse.
The new city, therefore, knew nothing of royalty, and
was ruled from the first by an aristocracy. This class
was called Geomori, that is to say, proprietors. It was
ocmposed of families which, on the day of the founda-
tion, had distributed among themselves, with all the
ordinary rites, the sacred parts of the territory. This
aristocracy remained for several generations absolute
master of the government, and it preserved its title
of proprietors, which seems to indicate that the lower
classes had not the right of property in the soil. An
aristocracy of the same kind ruled for a long time at
Miletus and at Samos.'
• Aristotle, Pelitics, III. 9, 8 ; VI. 3, 8.
» Aristotle, Politics, VIII. 5, 10.
' Diodorus, VIII. 5. Thucydides, VIII. 21. Herodotus, VII
155.
336 THE REVOLUTIONS. BOOK IV.
CHAPTER V.
Second Revolution. Change in the Constitution of the
Family. The Eight of Birth disappears. The Gens
is dismembered.
The revolution -which had overturned royalty had
modified the exterior form of the government rsither
than changed the constitution of society. It had not
been the work of the lower classes, who had an interest
in destroying the old institutions, bnt of the aristocracy,
who wished to maintain them. It had not been under-
taken in order to overturn the ancient constitution of
the family, but rather to preserve it. The kings had
often been tempted to elevate the inferior classes and
to weaken the gentes, and for this the kings themselves
had been dethroned. The aristocracy had brought
about a political revolution only to prevent a social
one. They had taken the power in hand, less from the
pleasure of ruling than to protect their old institutions,
their ancient principles, their domestic worship, their
paternal authority, the regime of the gens — in fine,
the private law which the primitive religion had estab?
lished.
This great and general effort of the aristocracy was
to meet a danger. N"ow, it appears that, in spite of
these efforts, and of the victory itself, the danger con-
tinued. The old institutions began to totter, and
grave changes were about to be introduced into the
inner constitution of the family. The old rule of the
gens, founded by the domestic religion, had not been
destroyed at the time when men passed to the gov-
CHAP. V. THE GENS IS DISMEMBBEED. 337
eriiment of tlie city. They had not wished, tliey had
not been able, immediately to renounce it, as the chiefs
clung to their authority, and the lower classes had not
at first the desire to free themselves. The rule of
the gens was therefore reconciled with that of the city.
But these were in reality two antagonistic forms of
government, which men could not hope to ally forever,
and which must sooner or later be at war with each
other. The family, indivisible and numerous, was too
strong and too independent for the social power not lo
feel the temptation, and even the need, of weakening
it. Either the city could not last, or it must in the
course of time break up the family.
The ancient gens, with its single hearth, its sovereign
chief, and its indivisible domain, was a convenient ar- ^
rangement so long as the state of isolation continued,
and no other form of society than itself existed. But
as soon as men were united in cities, the authority of
the ancient chief was necessarily diminished; for
though he was sovereign in his own gens, he was a,
member of a community ; as such, the general interests
obliged him to make sacrifices, and general laws com-
manded obedience. In his own eyes, and, above all,
in the. eyes of his inferiors, his dignity was impaired.
Then, in this community, aristocratically as it was con-
stituted, the lower classes counted for something, if
only on account of their numbers. The family which
comprised several branches, and which attended the
comitia, surrounded by a multitude of clients, naturally
had greater authority in the general deliberations tlian
a small family that counted few hands and few sol-
diers. Now, these inferiors were not slow to see their
importance and strength. A certain sentiment of
pride, and the desire for a better fate, grew up among
22
338 THE REVOLUTIONS. BOOK IT.
them. Added to this was the rivalry of the heads of
families striving for influence and seeking mutually to
weaken each other. Then, too, they were ambitious
of the magistracies of the city. To obtain these they
sought popularity, and to hold them, they neglected or
forgot their little sovereignties. These causes pro-
duced by degrees a sort of relaxation in the constitu-
tion of the gens ; those for whose interest it was to
maintain this constitution held to it less, while those
who had an interest in. modifying it became bolder
and stronger.
The force of individuality, at first strong in the fam-
ily, insensibly became weaker. The right of primogen-
iture, which was the condition of its unity, disappeared.
We ought not to expect that any writer of antiquity
should furnish us the exact date of this great change.
It is probable that there was no date, because the
change did not take place in a year. It was effected
by degrees — at first in one family, then in another,
and little by little in all. It happened, so to speak,
without any one's perceiving it.
We can easily perceive, also, that men did not pass
at once from the indivisibility of the patrimony to the
equal division among the brothers. There was appar-
ently a transition period between these two conditions
of property. Affairs probably took the same course in
Greece and Italy as in ancient Hindu society, where
the religious law after having prescribed the indivisi-
bility of the patrimony, left the father fi-ee to give
some portion of it to his younger sons; then, after
having required that the oldest should have at least a
double portion, permitted the apportionment to be
eq-ial, and finished by recommending this arrange-
ment.
CHAP. V. THE GENS IS DI8MEMBBBBD. 339
But we have no precise information upon these
points. A single fact is certain — that the right of pri-
mogeniture existed at an ancient epoch, and that after-
wards it disappeared.
This change was not accomplished at the same time,
nor in the same manner, in all the cities. In some
legislation maintained it for a long time. At Thebes
and at Corinth it was still in vigor in the eighth century.
At Athens legislation still showed some preference for
the oldest. At Sparta the right of primogeniture con-
tiimed until the triumph of democracy. There were
cities where it disappeared only after an insurrection.
At Heraclea, Cnidus, Istros, and Marseilles the younger
branches took up arms to destroy at tlie same time the
right of primogeniture and the paternal authority.'
From that time Greek cities that had not before counted
more than a hundred men enjoying political rights,
could count five or six hundred. All the members of
aristocratic famil'es were citizens, and magistracies and
the senate were open to them.
It is impossible to tell at what time the privilege of
birth disappeared at Rome. It is probable that the
kings, in the midst of their struggle against the aris-
tocracy, did all that lay in their power thus to suppress
and disorganize the gentes. At the beginning of the
republic, we see a hundred new members enter the
senate. Livy believed that they came from the plebs ; "
but it is not possible that the hard rule of the patricians
could have commenced with a concession of this nature.
' Aristotle, Politics, VIII. 5, 2, ed. B. Saint Hilaire.
" He contradicts himself elsewhere. Hx primoribus ordinis
eqvestris, he says. Now, the primores of the equestrian order —
that is to say, the kniglits of the first six centuries — were patri-
cians. See Belot, Sist. des chevaliers romains, lir. I. ch. 2.
340 THB BBTOLUTIOUS. BOOK IV.
These new senatoi's must have been taken from patri-
cian families; they had not the same title as the old
members of the senate; these latter were called patres
(chiefs of families) ; the new ones were called conscripti
(chosen).' Does not this difference of name make it
probable that the hundred new senators, who were not
family chiefs, belonged to younger branches of patrician
geiites ? We may suppose that this class of the younger
branches, being numerous arid energetic, lent its sup-
port to the entei-prise of Brutus and the /others, only
on the condition of receiving civil and political rights.
These branches thus acquired, through the need which
the patres had of tlwm, what the same class conquered
by its arms at Heraclea, Cnidus, and Marseilles.
The right of primogeniture, then, disappeared every-
where — an important revolution which began to trans-
form society. The Italian gens and the Hellenic yipog
lost their primitive unity. The different branches sep-
arated ; thenceforth each had its share of the property,
its domicile, its own interests, and its independence.
Singuli singulas familias incipiuni habere, says the
jurisconsult. There is in the Latin language an old
expression which appears to date fi-om this epoch ;
familiam ducere, they said of one who separated from
the gens, and established a new stock, just as they said
ducere coloniam of one who quitted the metropolis,
and went to found a colony. The brother who thus
separated from the oldest brother had thenceforth his
own sacred fire, which, doubtless, he had lighted at the
common fire of the gens, as the colony lighted its fire
at the prytaneum of the metropolis. The gens no longer
' Pestus, V. Conscripti, Allecti. Plutarch, Rom. Quest., 68.
For several centuries the patres were distinguished from the
conscripti.
CHAP. V. THE CLIENTS BECOME FEES. 341
preserved anything more than a sort of religious author-
ity over the different families that had left it. Its worship
had the supremacy over theirs. They vi'ere not allowed
to forget that they had sprung from thisi gens ; they con-
tinued to bear its name; on fixed days they assembled
around the common fire, to venerate the ancient ances-
tor or the protecting divinity. They continued even to
have a religious chief, and it is probable that the oldest
preserved his privilege of the. priesthood, whicii long
remained hereditary. With this exception, they were
independent.
This dismemberment of the gens led to important
consequences. The antique priestly family, which had
formed a group so firmly united, so strongly consti-
tuted, so powerful, was forever weakened. This revolu-
tion paved the way for other changes, and rendered
them easier
CHAPTER VI.
The Clients become Free.
1. What Clientship was at first, and Jioio it was
transformed.
Hebe is another revolution, the date of which wo
cannot indicate, but which certainly modified the con-
stitution of the family and of society itself. The ancient
family comprised, under the authority of a single chief,
two classes of unequal rank ; on the one side were the
younger branches — that is to say, individuals natuj-ally
free ; on the other, the servants or clients, inferior by
birth, but connected with the chief by their participa
342 THE BEVOLUTIONS. BOOK IV.
tiou in the domestic worship. We have just seen one
of these classes emerge from its inferior condition ; the
second also aspired at an early date to become free. It
succeeded in the course of time; clientship became
modified, and finally disappeared.
This was an immense change, which the ancient
writers have given us no account of. In the same way,
in the middle ages, the chroniclers do not tell us how
the rural population were transformed by degi-ees.
There has been in the existence of human societies a
great number of revolutions no trace of which has been
handed down to us in any document. Writers have
not noticed them, because they were accomplished
slowly, in an insensible manner, without any apparent
struggle ; profound and silent revolutions, which moved
the foundations of human societj', without anything ap-
pearing on the surface, and which remained concealed
even from the generations that took part in them.
History can seize them only a long time after they have
taken place, when, in comparing two epochs in the life
of a people, it sees differences between them, which
show that a great revolution has been aeomplished.
If we credit the picture which writers have traced"
of the primitive clientship of Rome, that must have been
truly a golden age. Who could be more humane than
this patron, who defended his client before the courts,
who sustained him with his money if he was poor, and
who provided for the education of his children ? What
could be more touching than to see this client sustain
the patron when he had fallen into debt, paying his
debts, giving all he had to procure his ransom ? But
there was not so much sentiment among the ancients.
Disinterested affection and devotion were never institu-
tions. We must have another idea of client and patron.
i!HAP, VI. THE CLIENTS BECOME FEEE. 343
What we know with the gi'eatest certainty concern-
ing the client is, that he coukl not leave one patron and
choose another, and that he was bound, from father to
son, to the same family. If we knew only this, it would
be sufficient to convince us that his condition could not
be a very desirable one. Let us add that the client was
not a proprietor of the soil ; the laud belonged to the
patron, who, as chief of a domestic worship, and also as
a member of a city, was the only one qualified to be a
proprietor. If the client cultivated the soil, it was in
the name and for the profit of the master. He was not
even the owner of personal property, of his money, of
his peculium. As a proof of this, the patron could take
from him all these things to pay his own debts or his
ransom. Thus nothing belonged to the client. True,
the patron owed him and his children a living; but, in
turn, his labor was due to the patron. We cannot say
that he was precisely a slave ; but he had a master, to
whom he belonged, and to whose will he was in all
things subject. During his whole life he was a client,
and his sons after him were clients.
There is some analogy between the client of ancient
times and the serf of the middle ages. The principle
which condemned them to obedience was not the same,
it is true. For the sert^ this principle was the right of
property, which was exercised at the same time over
the soil and over man ; for the client, this principle
was the domestic religion, ..to which he was bound
under the authority of the patron, who was its priest.
Otherwise the subordination of the client and of the
serf was the same; the one was bound to his patron as
the other was bound to his lord; the client could no
more quit the gens than the serf could quit the glebe.
The client, like the serf, remained subject to a master.
344 THE EE VOLUTIONS. BOOK IV.
from father to son. A passage in Livy leads us to sup
pose that he was forbidden to marry outside the gens,
as the serf was forbidden to marry outside the village.
It is certain that he could not contract marriage without
the permission of his patron. The patron could take
]"ossesBion of the soil which the client cultivated, and
the money which he possessed, as the lord could do in
the case of the serf. If the client di«d, all that he had
been in possession of returned of right to the patron,
just as the succession of the serf belonged to the lord.
The patron was not only a master; he was a judge;
he could condemn a client to death. He was, more-
over, a religious chief. The client bent under this au-
thority, at the same time material and moral, which
held both body and soul. His religion, it is true, im-
posed duties up<in the patron, but they were duties of
which he aloni' was the judge, and for which there was
no sanction. The client saw nothing that protected
him : he was not of himself a citizen , if he wished to
appear before the tribunal of the city, his patron might
conduct liim there, and speak for him. Did he ask the
protection of the laws? He did not know the sacred
formulas ; and if he knew them, the first law for him
was never to testify or to speak against his patron.
Without the patron there was no justice; against the
patron iliere was no recourse.
The client did not exist at Rome only; he was found
among the Sabines and the Etruscans, making a part
of the mamca of every chief. He existed in the ancient
Hellenic gens as well as in that of Italy. We must not
look for hira in the Dorian cities, it is true, where the
rule of the gens disappeared at an early date, and where
the conquered peoples were bound, not to a master,
but ■ to a lot of land. We find a similar class at
CHAP. VI. THE CLIENTS BECOME FREE. 345
Athens, and in the Ionian and ^olian dties, under the
name of Thetes, or Pelatoe.
So long !is the aristocratic government lasted, these
Thetes did not make a part of the city. Shut up in
families, which they could not leave, they were in the
power of the Eupntrids, who had the same character
and the same authority as the Roman patrons.
We can easily believe that at an early date there
was hatred between the patron and the client. It is
not difficult to picture to one's self the kind of life that
was passed in that family where one had the authority
and the other had no rights ; where obedience, without
reserve and without hope, was placed by the side of
unrestrained power; where the best master had his
angry moods and his caprices ; where the most resigned
servant had liis rancor, his complaints, and his hatred.
Ulysses was a good master; see what a paternal affec-
tion he has for Eumasus and Philaatius. But he orders
to be put to death a servant who has insulted him
without knowing him, and others who have fallen into
the bad ways to which his absence has exposed them.
He is responsible to the city for the death of his de-
pendants ; but for the death of his servants no one asks
any reason.
In the state of isolation in which the family had long
lived, clientship sprang up and maintained itself. The
domestic religion was then all-powerful over the soul.
The man who was its priest by hereditary right ap-
2>eared to the inferior classes as a sacred being. More
than man, he was an intercessor between man and God.
From his mouth went forth the powerful prayer, the
irresistible formula, which brought down the favor or
the anger of the divinity. Before such a power he felt
compelled to bow ; obedience was commanded both by
346 THK REVOLUTIONS. BOOK IV.
faith and by religion ; and, besides, what temptation
could the client have to free himself? He saw no
horizon beyond this family, to which everything be-
longed. In it alone he found life calm and subsistence
assured ; in it alone, although he had a master, he
had also a protector; in it alone, in fine, he found an
altar which he could approach, and gods whom he was
permitted to invoke. To quit this family was to place
himself outside all social organization and all law ; it
was to lose his gods and to renounce the right of
prayer.
But when the city had been founded, the clients of
the different families could see each other, could confer
together, could make an interchange of their desires
and griefs, compare their masters, and obtain a glimpse
of a better fate. Then their view began to extend be-
yond the limits of the family. They saw that beyond
their circle there existed society, rules, laws, altars,
temples, and gods. To quit the family was no longer,
therefore, for them, an evil without a remedy. The
temptation became every day strongei'; clientsliip
seemed to them a burden every day heavier, and they
ceased to believe that the master's authority was legit-
imate and sacred. Then sprang up in the hearts of
these men an ardent desire to be free. True, we do not
find in the history of any city mention made of a gen-
eral insurrection among this class. If there were
armed struggles, they were shut up and concealed
within the circle of each family. For more than one
generation there were on one side energetic efforts for
independence, and implacable repression on the other.
There took place in each house a long and dramatic
series of events which it is impossible to-day to retrace.
All that we can say is, that the efforts of the lower
CHAP. 'VI. THE CLIENTS BECOME FREE. 347
classes were not without results. An invincible neces-
sity obliged the masters, little by little, to relinquish
some of their omnipotence. When authority ceases to
appear just to the subjects, time must still elapse be-
fore it will cease to appear so to the masters. But this
happens after awhile, and then the master, who no
longer believes in the justice of his authority, defends
it badly, or ends by renouncing it. Besides, this in-
ferior class was useful; by cultivating the earth, it
accumulated the riches of the master, and by carrying
arms, it constituted his strength in the midst of family
rivalries. It was therefore wise to satisfy these men,
and interest united with humanity to recommend con-
cessions.
It apjjears certain that the condition of clients im-
proved by degrees. At first they lived in the master's
house, cultivating the common domain together. Later
a separate lot of land was assigned to each. Tlie cli-
ent must already have found himself happier. He still
worked for his master's profit, it is true ; the field was
not his; he rather belonged to that. Still he cultivat-
ed it for a long succession of years, and he loved it.
There grew up between it and him, not that bond
which the religion of property had created between it
and the master, but another bond — that which labor
and sufiering even can form between the man who gives
his care, and the earth ^hich gives its fruits.
Later came new progress. He no longer worked for
the master, but for himself. On condition of an an-
nual rent, which at first was perhaps variable, but which
afterwards became fixed, he had the benefit of the har-
vest. He thus found some recompense for his labor,
and his life was at the same time freer and more inde-
pendent. "The chiefs of families," says one of the
348 THE EBVOLUTIONS. BOOK IV.
ancients, " assigned portions of land to their inferiors,
as if they had been their own children." ' So, too, we
read in the Odyssey, " A kind master gives his servant
a house and a field;" and Eumseus adds, a "desired
wife," because the client could not yet marry without
the consent of the master, and it was this master who
chose his companion for him.
But this field, where, thenceforward, his life was
passed, where he found all his labor and all his enjoy-
ment, was not yet his property. For this client did not
])0ssess that sacred character which enabled him to
hold property. The lot that he occupied continued to
be bounded by the sacred landmarks. — the god Termi-
nus, whom the family of the master had formerly
placed there. These inviolable bounds attested that
the fijeld, attached to the family of the master by a
sacred tie, could never become the absolute property
of a freed client. In Italy the field, and the house
which the villicus — the client of the patron — occu-
pied, contained a sacred fire, a Lar familiaris ; but this
fire did not belong to the cultivator; it was the mas-
ter's fire.* This established at the same time the right
of property in the patron, and the religious subordina-
tion of the client, who, so long as he belonged to the
patron, still followed the patron's worship.
The client, as soon ' as he came into possession of
property, suffered from not being the proprietor, and
aspired to become such. It became his ambition to
remove from this field — which seemed to be his by the
right of labor — those sacred bounds which made it
forever the property of the former master.
' Festus, V. Patres.
* Cato, Be Re Rust., 143. Columella, XI. 1, 19.
CHAP. VI. THE CLIEBTTR BECOME FEEE. 349
We see clearly that in Greece the clients attained
iheir object ; but we do not know by what means.
How much time and how many efforts were required
for this we can only guess. Possibly the same series
of social changes took place in antiquity which Europe
saw in the middle ages, when the slaves in the coun-
try became serfs of the glebe, when the latter, from
serfs, taxable at will, were changed 'to serfs with a fixed
rent, and when finally they were transformed, in the
course of time, into peasant proprietors.
2. Clientship disappears at Athens. The Work of
Solon.
This sort of a revolution is clearly marked in the
history of Athens. The effect of -the overthrow of
royalty had been to revive the regime of the yifog,
families had returned to their isolated condition, and
each had begun to form a little state, with a Eu-
patrid for a chief, and a multitude of clients for sub-
jects. This government appears to have weighed
heavily upon the Athenian population, for they retained
an unfavorable recollection of it. The people thought
themselves so unhappy that the preceding period ap-
peared to have been a sort of golden age. They re-
gretted their kings, and began to imagine that under
the monarchy they had been happy and free ; that they
had then enjoyed equality, and that it was only since
the fall of the kings that inequality and suffering had
commenced. This was such an illusion as men often
entertain. Popular tradition placed the commence-
ment of the inequality at the time when the people
began to find it odious. This clientship, this sort of
slavery, which was as old as the constiitution of the
350 THE EEVOLUTIONS. BOOK IV.
family, they dated from the time when men had iirst
felt its weight and understood its injustice. It is very
certain, however, that it was not in the seventh cen-
tury that the Eupatrids established the hard laws of
clientship. They did no more than to preserve them.
In this alone was their injustice; they maintained these
laws beyond the time when men accepted them with-
out complaint, and maintained them against the will
of the people. The Eupatrids of this epoch were per-
haps easier masters than their ancestors had been; and
yet they were more heartily detested.
It appears that even under the rule of this aristocracy
the condition of the lower class was improved; for cer-
tainly at that time it obtained possession of lots of land
on the single condition of paying a rent, which was fixed
at one sixth of the harvest. These mep were thus
almost emancipated ; having a home and living no
longer under the master's eye, they breathed more
freely and labored for their own profit.
But such is human nature that these men. as their
condition improved, felt more keenly the in'squality
that remained. Not to be a citizen, and to have no
part in the administration of the city, doubtless touched
them somewhat; but not to be capable of owning the
soil upon which they were born and died, affected
them much more. What rendered their condition sup-
portable, let us add, lacked stability. For though they
were really in possession of the soil, no formal law as-
sured them either this possession or the independence
that flowed from it. We see in Plutarch that the former
patron could renew his claim upon his former servant.
If the annual rent was not paid, or for any other cause,
these men relapsed into a sort of slavery.
Grave questions were agitated in Attica, therefore,
CHAP. VI. THE CLIENTS BECOME FREE. 351
during a series of four or five generations. It was
hardly possible that men of the lower class could re-
main in this unstable and anomalous position towards
which an insensible progress had conducted them. One
of two things was sure to follow : either, losing this
position, they must relapse into the bonds of an oner-
ous clientship, or, completely freed by a still farther
progress, they must rise to the rank of landed proprie-
tors and free men.
We can imagine all the efforts on the part of the la-
borer, the former client, and all the resistance on the
part of the proprietor, the former patron. It was not
a civil war. The Athenian annals have not preserved
the record of a single combat. It was a domestic war
in each hamlet, in each house, from father to son.
These struggles appear to have had various fortunes,
according to the nature of the soil in different cantons
in Attica. In the plain where the Eupatrid had his
principal domain, anywhere he was always present, his
authority over the little group of servants who were
always under his eye remained almost intact; the
Pedieis — or men of the plain — therefore, generally
showed themselves faithful to the old regime. But the
Diacrii, — those who cultivated the sides of the moun-
tain with severe toil, — being farther from the master,
more habituated to an independent life, more hardy and
more courageous, laid up in their hearts a violent ha-
tred for the Eupatrid, and a firm resolve to be free.
These especially were the men who were indignant to
see about the fields the "sacred bounds" of the mas-
ter, and to feel that " their soil was enslaved." ' As to
the inhabitants of the cantons near the sea, — the
' Solon, Ed. Bach, pp. 104, 105.
352 THE JSBV0LUTI03SS. BOOK IV.
Paralii, — the ownershii^ of tbe soil tempted them less;
they had the sea before them, and commerce, and trade.
Several had become rich, and with riches they were
nearly free. They therefore did not share the ardent
desire of the Diacrii, and did not feel any vigorous
hatred of the Eupatrids. They had not, however, the
base resignation of the Pedieis; they demanded more
stability in their condition, and better assured rights.
Solon satisfied these wishes so far as was jjossible.
There is a part of the work of this legislator which the
ancients have very imperfectly explained to us, but
wliich ajjpears to have been the principal part of it.
Before his time, the greater part of the inhabitants of
Attica still held but a precaiious possession of the soil,
and might be reduced to personal servitude. After
him this class was no longer found ; the right of prop-
erty was accessible to all ; there was no longer any
slavery for the Athenian; the families of the lower
classes were forever freed from the authority of the
Eupatrid families. Here was a great change, whose
author could be no other than Solon.
According to Plutarch's account, it is true, Solon did
no more than to soften the rigor of the law of debt
by abolishing the right of the creditor to enslave the
debtor. But we should carefully examine what a
writer so long after this period says of those debts that
troubled the Athenian city, as well as all the cities of
Greece and Italy. It is difficult to believe that before
Solon there was so great a circulation of money that
there were many boiTowers and lenders. We are not
to judge those times by the period that followed.
There was at that time very little commerce; bills of
exchange were unknown, and credits must have been
very rare. On what security could a man borrow who
CHAP. TI. THK CtIE>JTS BECOME FREE. 353
owned nothing ? Men are not much accustomed, in any
Bociety, to lend to the poor. The assertion is made, it
is true, on the faith of the translator of Plutarch rather
than on Plutarch himself, that the borrower mortgaged
his land ; but, supposing this land was his property, he
could not haye mortgaged it, for mortgages were not
then known, and were contrary to the nature of pro-
prietary .right. In those debtors of whom Plutarch
speaks we must see the former clients; in their debts,
the annual rent which they were to pay to their fornier
masters; and in the slavery into which they fell if they
failed to pay, the former clieotship, to which they were
again ireduoed.
Perhaps Solon suppressed the rent ; or, more proba-
bly, reduced the amount of it, so that the payment
became easy. He added the provision, that in future
the failure to pay should not reduce the laborer to
servitude.
He did more. Before him these former clients, when
they came into possession of the soil, could not become
the owners of it; for upon their fields the sacred and
inviolable bounds of the former patron still stood. For
the enfranchisement of the soil and of the cultivator,
it was necessary that these bounds should disappear.
Solon abolished them. We find the evidence of this
great reform in some verses of Solon himself: "It was
an unhoped-for work," said he ; "I have accomplished
it with the aid of the gods. I call to witness the god-
dess Mother, the black earth, whose landmarks I have
in many places torn up, the earth, which was enshned,
and is now free." In doing this, Solon had accomplished
a considerable revolution. He had put aside the an-
cient religion of property, which, in the name of the
immovable god Te«'minus, retained the land in a small
23
354 THE EEVOLTTTIONS. BOOK IV.
number of hands. He had wrested the earth from re-
ligion to give it to labor. He had suppressed, with the
Eupatrid's authority over the soil, his authority over
man, and he could say in his verses, "Those who in
this land suffered cruel servitude and trembled befoi-e
a master, I have made free." It is probable that this
enfranchisement is what the contemporaries of Solon
called oEiaaydsltt (shaking off the burdens). Later gen-
erations, who, once habituated to liberty, would not,
or could not, believe that their forefathers had been
serfs, explained this word as if it merely marked an
abolition of debts. But there is an energy in it which
i-eveals a greater revolution. Let us add here this sen-
tence of Aristotle, which, without entering into an
account of Solon's labors, simply says, " He j)ut an end
to the slavery of the people." '
3. Transformation of GUentsJiip at Home.
This war between clients and patrons also filled a
long period of Rome's history. Livy, indeed, says
nothing of it, because he is not accustomed closely to
observe the changes in institutions; besides, the annals
of the pontiffs, and similar documents, from which the
ancient historians whom Livy consulted had drawn,
could have contained no account of these domestic
struggles.
One thing, at least, is certain. There were clients
in the very beginning of Rome; there has even come
down to us very precise evidence of the dependence in
which their patrons held them. If, several centuiies
afterwards, we look for these clients, we no longer find
' Aristotle, Oov. of Ath., Fragm., coll. Didot, t. II, p. 107.
CHAP. VI. THE CLIENTS BECOME FEEE. S55
them. The name still exists, but not clientship. For
there is nothing move distinct from the clients of the
primitive period than these plebeians of Cicero's time,
who called themselves the clients of some rich man in
order to have the right to the sportula.
There were those who more nearly resembled the
ancient clients; these were the freedmen.' No more
did one freed from servitude at once become a free
man and a citizen at the end of the republic, than in the
first ages of Rome. He remained subject to a master.
Formerly they called him a client, now they call him a
freedman ; the name only is changed. As to the master,
his name does not even change; formerly they called
him patron, and they still call him by the same name.
The freedman, like the client of earlier days, remains
attached to the family; he takes its name, like the an-
cient client. He depends upon the patron ; he owes
him not only gratitude, but a veritable service, whose
measure the master himself fixes. The patron has the
jight to judge the freedman, as he had to judge the
client; he can remit to slavery for the crime of in-
gratitude.' The freedman, therefore, recalls the ancient
client. Between them there is but one difference :
clientship formerly passed from father to son ; now the
condition of freedman ceases in the second, or, at far-
thest, in the third generation. Clientship, then, has not
disappeared ; it still seizes a man at the moment when
' The freedman became a client. The identity of these two
terms is marlsed in a passage of Dionysius, IV. 23.
" Digest, XXV. tit. 2,5; L. tit. 16, 195. Valerius Maximus,
V. 1, 4. Suetonius, Claudius, 25. Dion Cassius, LV. The
legislation was the same at Athens ; see Lysias and HyperiJes in
Harpocration, v. 'Anoataatov, Demosthenes in Aristogitonem,
and Suidas, v. 'Avayxaiov.
356 THE EEVOLTJTIONS. BOOK IV.
servitude gives him up; only it is no longer hereditary.
This alone is a considerable change ; but we are unable
to state when it took place.
We can easily discover the successive improvements
that were made in the condition of the client, and by
what degrees he arrived at the right to hold property.
At first the chief of the gens assigned him a lot of land
to cultivate; ' ho soon became the temporary possessor
of this lot, on condition that he contributed to all the
expenses of his former master. The severe conditions
of the old law, M'hich obliged him to pay his patron's
ransom, the dowry of his daughter, or his legal fines,
clearly prove that when this law was written he was
already the temporary possessor of the soil. The client
made one farther step of progress ; he obtained the
right of transmitting, at his death, this lot to his son ;
in default of a son, the land returned, it is true, to the
patron. But now comes new progress: the client who
leaves no son obtains the right of making a will. Here
custom hesitates and varies; sometimes the patron
takes half the property, sometimes the will of the tes-
tator is fully respected ; in any case his will is never
invalid.' Thus the client, if he cannot yet call himself
a proprietor, has, at least, as extended an enjoyment of
property as is possible.
True, this was not complete enfranchisement. But
no document enables us to fix the epoch when the
clients were definitively detached from the patrician
families. There is a passage of Livy (II. 16) which,
if we take it literally, shows that from the first years
of the republic the clients were citizens. There is a
• Festus, T. Patres.
" Institutes of Justinian, III. 7.
CHAP. TI. THE CLIENTS BECOME PKEE. 357
strong probability that they were alfeady citizens in the
time of king Servius; perhaps they even voted in the
comitia curiata from the foundation of Rome. But we
cannot conclude from this that they were then entirely
enfranchisedj since it is possible that the patricians
found it for their interest to give their clients political
rights without consenting on that account to give them
civil rights.
It does not appear that the revolution which freed
the clients at Rome was accomplished at once, as at
Athens. It took place veiy slowly and imperceptibly,
without ever having been consecrated by any formal
laws. The bonds of clientship were relaxed little by
little, and the client was removed insensibly from the
patron.
King Servius introduced a great reform to the ad-
vantage of the clients ; he changed the organization of
the army. Before his reign the army was divided into
tribes, curies, and gentes; this was the patrician division;
every chief of the gens was at-the head of his clients.
Servius divided the army into centuries; each had
his rank according to his wealth. By this arrangement
the client no longer marched by the side of his patron;
he no longer recognized him as a chief in battle ; and
he became accustomed to independence.
This change produced another in the constitution of
the comitia. Formerly the assembly was divided into
curies and gentes, and the client, if he voted at all, voted
under the eye of the master. But the division by cen-
turies being established for the comitia as well as for
the army, the client no longer found himself in the same
division as the patron. The old law, it is true, com-
manded him to vote the same as his patron Voted, but
how could his vote be known ?
858 THE EEVOLUTIONS. BOOK IV
It was a great step to separate the client from the
patron in the most solemn moments of life, at the mo-
ment of combat, and at the moment of voting. The
authority of the patron was greatly diminished, and
what remained to him was more hotly contested daily.
As soon as the client had tasted of independence, he
wished for the complete enjoyment of it. He aspired
to separate fiom the gens and to join the plebs, wliere
he might be free. How many occasions presented
themselves ! Under the kings, he was sure of being
aided by them, for they asked nothing better than to
enfeeble the gentes. Under the republic, he found the
protection of the plebs themselves, and of the tribunes.
Many clients were thus freed, and the gens could not
recover them. In 472 B. C, the number of clients
was still considerable, since the plebs complained that
bj' their votes in the comitia centuriata, they caused
the balance to incline in favor of the patricians." About
the same time, the plebs having refused to enroll, the
patricians were able to form an army with their clients.'
It appears, however, that these clients were no longer
numerous enough alone to cultivate the lands of the
patricians, and that the latter were obliged to borrow
the labor of the plebs.' It is probable that the crea-
tion of the tribuneship, by protecting the escaped cli-
ents against their former patrons, and by rendering the
condition of the plebs more enviable and more secure,
hastened this gradual movement towards enfranchise-
ment. In the year 372 there were no longer any
clients, and Manlius could say to the plebs, " As many
clients as you have been about a single patron, so many
Livy, 11. 66. » Dionysius, VII. 19 ; X. 27.
' Inculti per secessionem plebis agri. Livy, II. 34.
CHAP. VI. THE CLIENTS BECOME FKEE. 359
now shall you be against a single enemy.' Thence-
forth we no longer see in the history of Rome these
ancient clients, these men hereditarily attached to the
gens. Primitive clientship gave place to a clientship
of a new kind, a voluntary, almost fictitious bond, which
no longer imposed the same obligations. We no longer
see in Rome the three classes, patricians, clients, and
plebeians. Only two remain; the clients are con-
founded with the plebs.
The Marcelli appear to be a branch thus detached
from the Claudian gens. They were Claudii; but as
they were not patricians, they belonged to the gens
only as clients. Free at an early period, and enriched,
by what means we know not, they were first raised to
plebeian dignities, and later to those of the city. For
several centuries the Claudian gens seems to have for-
gotten its rights over them. One day, however, in
Cicero's time," it recalled them lo mind very unex-
pectedly. A freedman or client of the Marcelli died,
leaving property, which, according to law, would revert
to the patron. The patrician Claudii claimed that the
Marcelli, being clients, could not themselves have c i-
eiits, and that their freed men and their property should
belong to the chief of the patrician gens, who alone was
capable of exercising the rights of a patron. This suit
very much astonished the public, and embarrassed the
lawyers : Cicero himself thought the question very ob-
scure. But it would not have been so four centuries
earlier, and the Claudii would have gained their cause.
But in Cicero's time the laws upon which they founded
their claim were so old that they had been forgotten,
and the court easily decided the case in favor of the
Marcelli. The ancient clientship no longer existed.
' Llvy, VI. la. ' Cicero, De Oraiore, I. .<5P-
360 THE EEV0LUTI0N8. BOOK IV.
CHAPTER VII.
Third Revolution. The Plebs enter the City.
1. General Sistory of this Resolution.
The changes which, in the course of time, had taken
place in the constitution of the family, brought with
them ethers in the constitution of the city. The old
aristocratic and sacerdotal family became weakened.
The right of primogeniture having disappeared, this
family lost its unity and vigor; the clients having
been for the most part freed, it lost the greater part
of its subjc'ctSv
The people of the lower orders wel'e no longer dis-
tributed among the gentes, but lived apart, and formed
a body by themselves. Thus the city assumed quite
another aspect. Instead of being, as at an earlier date,
a fully united assemblage of as many little states as
there were families, a union was formed on the one
side among the patrician members of the gentes, and
on the other side between men of the lower orders.
There were thus two great bodies, two hostile socie-
ties, placed face to face. It was no longer, as in a pre-
ceding period, an obscure sti'U^le in each family ; there
was open war in each city. One of these classes wished
to maintain the religious constitution of the city, and
to continue the government and the priesthood in the
Jiands of the sacred families. The other wished to
break down the barriers that placed it beyond the pale
of the law, of religion, and of politics.
OHAP. VII. THE PLEBS ENTER THE CITY. 361
In the beginning of the struggle, the advantage was
with the aristocracy of birth. It had not, indeed, its
former subjects, and its material strength had disap-
peared; but there remained its religious prestige, its
regular organization, its habit of command, its tradi-
tions, and its hereditary pride- It never doubted the
justice of its cause, and believed that in defending
itself it was defending religion. The people, on the
other hand, had nothing but numbei-s on their side.
They were held back by a habit of respect, of which
they could not easily free themselves. Then, too, they
had no leaders, and every principle of organizatioa
was wanting. There were, in the beginning, a multi-
tude without any bond of union, rather than a vigor-
ous and well-constituted body. If we bear in mind
that men had not yet discovered any other principle
of association than the hereditary religion of the fam-
ily, and that they had no idea of any authority that
was not derived from a worshipj we shall easily under-
stand that the plebs, who had been excluded from all
the rites of religion, could not at first form a regular
society, and that much time was required for them to
discover the elements of discipline and the rales of a
i-egalar governmetit. This inferior class, in its weak-
ness, saw at first no other means of combating the
aristocracy than by meeting it with monarchy.
In the cities where the popular class had been al-
ready consolidated in the time of the ancient kings, it
sustained them with all its strength, and encouraged'
them to increase their power. At Rome it demanded
the restoration of monarchy after Romulus, and caused
Hostilius to be nominated; it made Tarquinius Priscus
king ; it loved Servius, and regretted Tarquinius Su-
perbus. When the kings had been everywhere over-
362 THE EEVOLUTIONS. BOOK IV.
thrown, and the aristocracy had become supreme, the
people did not content themselves with regretting the
monarchy; they aspired to restore it under a new
form. In Greece, during the sixth century, they suc-
ceeded generally in procuring leaders ; not wishing lo
call them kings, because this title implied the idea of
religious functions, and could only be borne by the
sacerdotal families, they called them tyrants.'
Whatever might have been the original sense of this
word, it certainly was not borrowed from the language
of religion. Men could not apply it to the gods, as
they applied the word king ; they did not pronounce
it in their prayers. It designated, in fact, something
quite new among men — an authority that was not de-
rived from the worship, a power that religion had not
established. The appearance of this word in the Greek
language marks a principle which the preceding gener-
' ations had not known — the obedience of man to man.
Up to that time tliere had been no other chiefs of the
state than those who had beeu chiefs of religion ; those
only governed the city who offered the sacrifices and
invoked the gods for it. In obeying them, men obeyed
only the religious law, and made no act of submission
except to the divinity. Obedience to a man, authority
given to this man by other men, a power human in its
origin and nature — this had been unknown to the an-
cient Eupatrids, and was never thought of till the day
when the inferior orders threw off the yoke of the aris-
tocracy and attempted a new government.
Let us cite a few examples. At Corinth, " the peo-
' The name of king was sometimes given to these popular
chiefs when they were descended from religious families. He-
rodotus, V. 92.
CHAP. vn. THE PLEBS ElfTEE THE CITT. 363
pie supported the government of the Bacchiadss very
unwillingly; Cypsel us, understanding this hatred, and
seeing that the people sought a chief to conduct them
to freedom," offered himself to become their chief.
The people accepted him, set him up as their tyrant,
drove out the Bacehiadse, and obeyed Gypselus. Mi-
letus had as a tyrant a certain Thrasybulus; Mitylene
obeyed Pittacus, and Samos Polycrates. We find
tyrants at Argos, at Epidaurus, and at Megara in the
sixth century ; Sicyon had tyrants during a hundred
and thirty years, without interruption. Among the
Greeks of Italy we see tyrants at Cumaa, at Crotona,
at Sybaris — indeed everywhere. At Syracuse, in4S5,
the lower orders made themselves masters of the city,
and banished the aristocratic class; but they could
neither maintain nor govern themselves, and at the
end of a year they had to set up a tyrant.'
Everywhere these tyrants, with more or less violence,
had the same policy. A tyrant of Corinth one day
asked advice concerning government of a tyrant of
Miletus. The latter, in reply, struck off the heads of
grain that were higher than the others. Thus their
rule of conduct was to cut down the high heads, and
to strike at the aristocracy, while depending upon the
people.
The Roman plebs at first formed conspiracies to
restore Tarquin. They afterwards tried to set up ty-
rants, and cast their eyes by turns upon Publicola,
Spurius Cassias, and Manlius. The accusation which
the patricians so often addressed to those of their own
order who became popular, cannot have been pure
' Nicholas of Damascus, Fragm. Aristotle, Pol., V. 9.
Thucydides, I. 126. Diodorus, IV. 6.
364 THE EEVOLUTIONS. BOOK IT.
calumny. The fear of the great attests the desire of
the plebs.
But we ought to remark that, if the people in Greece
and Rome sought to restore monarchy, it was not from
real attachment to this sort of government. They
loved tyrants less than they detested aristocracy. For
them the monarchy was a lueans of conquering and
avenging themselves; but this government, which was
the result of force alone, and never rested upon any
sacred tradition, took no root in the hearts of the peo-
ple. They set ap a tyrant for the needs of the strug-
gle ; they left him the power afterwards from gi-atitude
or from necessity. But when a few years had elapsed,
and the recollection of the hard oligarchy had been
efikced, they let the tyrant fall. This government never
had the affection of the Greeks ; they accepted it only
as a temporary resource, while the popular party should
find a better one and should feel strong enough to gov-
ern itself.
The inferior class increased by degrees. Progress
sometimes works obscurely, yet decides the future of a
class, and transforms society. About the sixth century
before our era, Greece and Italy saw a new source of
riches appear. The earth no longer sufficed for all the
wants of man ; tastes turned towards beauty and luxu-
ry ; the arts sprang up, and then industry and commerce
became necessary. Personal property was created by
degrees; coins were struck, and money appeared.
Now, the appearance of money was a great revolution.
Money was not subject to the same conditions as land-
ed property. It was, according to the expression of
the lawyers, res nee mancipi, and could pass from
hand to hand without any religious formality, and
without difficulty could reach the plebeians. Religion,
CHAP. VII. THE PLBBS ENTEE THE CITY. 365
which had given its stamp to the soil, had no powei
over money.
Men of the lower orders now learned other occupa-
tions besides that of cultivating the earth,; there were
artisans, sailors, manufacturers, and merchants; and
soon there were rich men among them. Here was a
a singular novelty. Previously, the chiefs of the genfces
alone could be proprietors, and here were former cli-
ents and plebeians who were rich and who displayed
.theij" wealth. Then, too, the luxury which enriched
the plebeian impoverished the noble. In many cities,
especially at Athens, were a part of the aristocratic
body seen to become miserably poor. Now, in a soci-
ety where wealth is changing hands, raijk is in danger
of being overthrown. Another consequence of this
change was, that among the people themselves, distinc-
tions of rank arose, as must happen in every human
society. Some families were prominent; some names
increased in importance. A sort of aristocracy was
formed among the people. This was not an evil; the
people ceased to be a confused mass, and began to re-
semble a well-eonstituted body. Having rank among
themselves, they could select leaders without any long-
er having to take from the patricians the first ambi-
tious man who wished to reign. This plebeian aristoc-
racy soon had the qualities which ordinarily accompany
wealth acquired by labor ^ that is to say, the feeling
of personal worth, the love of tranquil liberty, and that
spirit of wisdom which, though desiring improve-
ments, fears risking too much. The plebs followed
the lead of this new ai-istocracy, which they were proud
of possessing. They renounced tyrants as soon as they
felt that they possessed among themselves the ele-
ments of a better government. Jndeeil, riches became,
366 THE REVOLUTIONS. BOOK IV.
for some time, as we shall see by and by, a principle
of social organization.
There is one other change of which we must speak,
for it greatly aided the lower class to rise — the change
that took place in the military art. In the first ages
of the history of cities, the strength of armies was in
their cavalry. The real warrior was the one who
fought from a horse or from a chariot. The foot-
soldier, of little service in combat, was slightly es-
teemed. The ancient aristocracy, therefore, every-
where reserved to themselves the right to fight on
horseback.' In some cities the nobles even gave tbem-
Belves the title of knights. The celeres of Romulus,
the Roman knights of the earlier ages, were all patri-
cians. Among the ancients the cavalry was always
the noble arm. But by degrees infantry became more
important. Improvement in the manufacture of arms,
and in discipline, enabled it to resist cavalry. When
this point was reached, infantry took the first rank in
battle, for it was more manageable, and its manoeuvres
easier. The legionaries and the hoplites thenceforth
formed the main strength of armies. Now the legion-
aries and the hoplites were plebeians. Add to this
that maritime operations became more, extended, es-
pecially in Greece, that there were naval battles, and
that the destiny of a city was often in the hands of
the rowers — that is to say, of the plebeians. Now, a
class that is strong enough to defend a people is strong
enough to defend its rights, and to exercise a legiti-
mate influence. The social and political state of a
nation always bears a certain relation to the nature and
composition of its armies.
' Aristotle, Politics, VI. 3, 2.
CHAP. VII. THE PLEBS ENTER THE CITY. 867
Finally, the inferior class succeeded in having a re-
ligion of its own. These men had in their hearts, we
may suppose, that religious sentiment which is insepa-
rable from our nature, and which renders adoration
and prayer necessary to us. They suffered, therefore,
to find themselves shut out from all religion by the
ancient principle which prescribed that every god
belonged to a family, and that the right of prayer was
transmitted with the blood. They strove, therefore,
to have a worship of their own.
It is impossible to enter here into the details of the
efforts that they made, of the means which they in-
vented, of the difficulties or the resources that occurred
to them. This work, for a long time a- separate study
for each individual, was long the secret of each mind;
we can see only the results. Sometimes a plebeian
family set up a hearth of its own, whether it dared to
jight the fire itself or procured the sacred fire else-
where. Then it had its worship, its sanctuary, its pro-
tecting divinity, and its priesthood, in imitation of the
patrician family. Sometimes the plebeian, without hav-
ing any domestic worship, had recourse to the temples
of the city. At Rome those who had no sacred fire, and
consequently no domestic festival, offered their annual
sacrifices to the god Quirinns.' When the upper class
persisted in driving the lower orders from the temples,
the latter built temples of their own. At Rome they had
one on the Aventine, which was sacred to Diana; they
also had the temple of Plebeian Modesty. The Oriental
worships, which began in the sixth century to overrun
Greece and Italy, were eagerly received by the plebs ;
these were foniis of "worship which, like Buddhism,
' Varro, L. L., VI. 13.
368 THE EEVOLUTIONS. BOOK. IV.
excluded no caste, or people. Often, too, the plebeians
would make themselves gods, like those of the patrician
curies and tribes. Thus king Servius erected an altai-
in every quarter of the city, so that the multitude might
have places to sacrifice ; just as Peisistratus set up
HermsB in the streets and squares of Athens." Those
were the gods of the democracy. The plebeians, pre-
viously a multitude without worship, thenceforth had
religious ceremonies and festivals. They could pray ;
this in a society where religion made the dignity of man
was a great deal.
When once the lower orders had gained these points ;
when they had among themselves rich men, soldiers,
and priests; when they had gained all that gave man a
sense of his own worth and strength; when, in fine, they
had compelled the aristocracy to consider them of some
account, — it was impossible to keep them out of social
and political life, and the city could be closed to them
no longer.
The entry of this inferior class into th§ city was a
revolution, which, from the seventh to the fifth century,
filled the Ijistory of Gi'eeoe and Italy.
The efforts of the people were everywhere successful,
but not everywhere in the same manner, or by the same
means. In some cases the people, as soon as they felt
themselves to be strong, rose, sword in hand, and forced
the gates of the city where they had been forbidden to
live. Once masters, they either drove out the nobles
and occupied their houses, or contented themselves^
with proclaiming an equality of rights. This is what
happened at Syracuse, at Erythrse, and at Miletus.
In other cases, on the contraryj the people employed
' Dionysius, IV. 6. FlatQ, ffipparchus.
CHAP. VII. TEE PLEBS ENTEK THE CITY. 369
means less violent. Without an armed struggle, and
merely by the moral force which their last step h,Hd
given them, they constrained the great to make con-
cessions. They then appointed a legislator, and the
constitution was changed. This was the course of
events at Athens.
Sometimes the inferior class arrived by degrees, and
without any shock, at its object. Thus, at Cumas, tlie
number of members of the city, very few in the begin-
ning, was increased at first by the admission of those
of the people who were rich enough, to keep a horse,
Later the number of citizens was raised to one thousand,
and by degrees the city reached a dem<Acratic form of
government."
In a few cities, the admission of the plebs among
the citizens was the work of the kings; this was the
case at Rome. In others it was the work of popular
tyrants, as at OoHnth, at Sicyon, and at Argos. When
the aristocracy regained the supremacy, they generally
had the good sense to leave to the lower orders the
rights of citizens which the kings or tyrants had given
them. At Saraos the aristocracy did not succeed in
its struggle with the tyrants until it had freed the lower
classes. It would occupy us too long to enumerate all
the different forms under which this great revolution
appeared. The result was everywhere the same ; the
inferior class entered the city, and became a part of
the body politic.
The poet Theognis has given us a very clear idea of
this revolution, and of its consequences. Ho tells us
that in Megara, bis country, there were two sorts of
men. He calls one the class of the good, h'/aQoi / this,
• .HeraGleides of Pontus. Fragm., coll. Didot, t. 11, p. 217.
24
370 THB REVOLUTIONS. BOOK IT.
indeed, is the name which they took in most of the
Greek cities. The other he calls the class of the had,
vMxol ; tliis, too, is the name by which it was custom-
ary to designate the inferior class. The poet describes
the ancient condition of this class: "Formerly it knew
neither tribunals nor laws;" this is as much as to say
that it had not the right of the citizenship. These men
were not even permitted to approach the city ; " they
lived without, like wild beasts." They took no part in
the religious repasts ; they had not the right to maiTy
into the families of the good.
But how changed is all this ! Rank has been over-
thrown ; " the bad have been placed above the good."
Justice is disturbed ; thy ancient laws are no more, and
laws of strange novelty have replaced them. Hiches
have become the only object of men's desires, because
wealth gives power. The man of noble race marries
the daughter of the rich plebeian, and " marriage con-
founds the races.''
Theognis, who belonged to an aristocratic family,
vainly strove to resist the course of events. Con-
demned to exile, and despoiled of his property, he could
no longer protest and fight except in his verses. But
if he no longer hoped for success, at least he never
doubred the justice of his cause. He accepted defeat,
but he slill preserved a sense of his rights. In his
eyes, the revolution which had taken place was a moral
evil, a crime. A son of the aristocracy, it seemed to
him that this revolution had on its side neither justice
nor the gods, and that it was an attempt against re-
ligion. « The gods," he says, « have quitted the earth ;
no one fears them. The race of pious men has dis-
appeared ; no one now cares for the Immortals."
But these regrets are useless, and he knows it well
OHAP. Vn. THE PLBBS ENTEE THE CITY. 371
If he complains thus, it is as a sort of pious duty ; it is
because he has received from the ancients " the holy
tradition," and his duty is to perpetuate it. But he
labors in vain ; the tradition itself will perish ; the sons
of the nobles will forget their nobility ; soon all will be
seen united by marriage to plebeian families; "they
win drink at their festivals and eat at their tables " ;
they will soon adopt their sentiments. In Theognis'
time, regret was all that was left for the Greek aristoc-
racy, and even this regret was soon to disappear.
In fact, alter Theognis the nobility were nothing but
a recollection. The great families continued piously
to preserve the domestic worship and the memory of
their ancestors, but this was all. There were still men
who amused themselves by counting their ancestors;
but such men were ridiculed. They preserved the cus-
tom of inscribing upon some tombs that the deceased
was of noble race, but no attempt was made to restore
a system forever fallen. Isocrates said, with truth, that
in his time the great families of Athens no longer ex-
isted except in their tombs.
Thus the ancient city was transformed by degrees.
In the beginning it was an association of some hundred
chiefs of families. Later the number of citizens in-
creased, because the younger branches obtained a
position of equality. Later still, the freed clients, the
plebs, all -that multitude which, during centuries, had
remained outside the political and religious association,
sometimes even outside the sacred enclosure of the
city, broke down the barriers which were opposed to
them, and penetrated into the city, where they im-
mediately became the masters.
372 THE REVOLUTIONS. BOOK IV.
2. Histoi-y of this Revolution at Athens.
The Eupatiids, after the overthrow of royalty, gov-
erned Athens during four centuries. Upon this long
dominion history is silent ; we know only one fact — that
it was odious to the lower orders, and that the people
tried to change the_goil'ernment.
In the year /598/ the discontent, which appeared
general, and cemin feigns which showed a revolution
to be at hand, aroused the ambition of a Eupatrid,
Cylou, who undertook to overthrow the government
of his caste, and to establish himself as a popular
tyrant. The energy of the archons frustrated the en-
terprise, but the agitation continued after hiin. In
vain the Enpatrids employed all the resources of their
religion. In vain did they announce that the gods
were irritated, and that spectres had appeared. In vain
did they purify the city fi'om the crimes of the people,
and raise two altars to Violence and Insolence to ap-
pease these two divinities, whose malign influence had
agitated all minds.' All this was to no purpose. The
feeling of hatred was not appeased. They brought
from Crete the pious Epimenides, a mysterious person-
age, who was Baid to be the son of a goddess, and he
performed a series of expiatory cerettioni-es ; they hoped,
by thus striking the imaginations of the people, to
revive religion, and consequently to fortify the aristoc-
racy. But the people were not moved ; the religion
of the Eupatrids no longer had any influence upon their
minds ; they peraisted in demanding reform.
Forsixteen years longer the fierce opposition of the
' Diogenes Laertius, I. 110. Cicero, Ve Leg., II. 11. Athe-
nseus, p. 602.
CHAF. VU THE PLEBS BNTEB THE CITY. 373
peasants of the mountain and the patient opposition of
the rich men of the shore waged war against the Eu-
patrids. Finally, those who were wisest among the
three parties agreed to intrust to Solon the care of
tei'minating the discords, and of pieventing still greater
misfortunes. Solon had the rare fortune to belong at
the same time to the Eupatrids by birth, and to the
merchants by the occupation of his earlier years. His
poetry, exhibits hira to us as a man entirely free from
the prejudice of caste. By his conciliatory spirit, by
his taste for wealth and luxury, by his love of pleasure,
he was far removed from the old Eupatrids. He
belonged to new Athens.
We have said above that Soioii began by freeing the
land from the old domination which the religion of
the Eupatrid families had exercised over it. He broke
the chains of clientship. So greiat a change in the
social state brought with it another in the political
order.
The lower orders needed thenceforth, according to
the expression of Solon himself^ a shield to defend their
newly-found liberty. This shield was political rights.
Solon's constitution is fur from being well known to
us; it appears, however, that all the Athenians made
from that time a part of the assembly of the people,
and that the senate was no longer composed of Eupa-
trids alone ; it appears even that the archons could be
elected outside the ancient priestly caste. These grave
innovations destroyed ^11 the ancient rules of the city.
The right of suffrage, magistracies, priesthood, the
direction of society, all these had to be shared by the
Eupatrid with the inferior caste. In the new constitur
tion no account was takeil of the rights of primogeni-
ture. There were still classes, but men were no longer
374 THE EBVOLUTIONS. BOOK IV.
distinguished except by wealth. The rule of the Eu-
patrids disappeared. The Eupatrid was no longer of
any account, unless he was rich; he had influence
through his wealth, and not through birth. Thence-
forth the poet could say, " In poverty the noble is of
no account," and the people applauded in the theatre
this line of the poet- "Of what rank is this man? —
Rich, for those are now the noble." '
The system which was thus founded had two sorts
of enemies — the Eupatrids, who regretted their lost
privileges, and the poor, who still suffered from the
inequality of their rank.
Hardly had Solon finished his work when agitation
recommenced. "The poor," says Plutarch, "showed
themselves the fierce enemies of the rich." The new
government displeased them, perhaps, quite as much
as that of the Eupatrids. Besides, seeing that the
Eupatrids could still be archons and senators, many
imagined that the revolution had not been complete.
Solon had maintained the republican forms ; now the
people still entertained a blind hatred against these
forms of government under which they had seen, for
four centuries, nothing but the reign of the aristocracy.
Alter the example of many Greek cities, they wished
for a tyrant.
Peisistratus, a Eupatrid, but following his own per-
sonal ambition, promised the poor a division of the
lands, and attached them to himself. One day he ap-
peared in the assembly, and, pretending that he had'
been wounded, asked for a guard. The men of the
higher classes were about to reply and unveil his false-
hood, but "the people were ready to resort to violence
' Euripides, Phciniss. Alexis, in Athenseus, IV. 49.
CHAP. VII. THE PLEBS ENTER THE CITY. 375
to sustain Peisistratus ; the rich, seeing this, fled in dis-
order." Thus one of the first acts of the popular as-
sembly recently established was to enable a man to
become master of his country.
But it does not appear that the reign of Peisistratus
offered any check to the development of the destinies
of Athens. Its principal effect, on the contrary, was
to guarantee this great social and political reform,
which had just taken place, against a reaction. The
Eupatrids never regained their lost power.
The people showed themselves little desirous of re-
covering their libei ty. Twice a coalition of the great
and the rich overthrew Peisistratus; twice he returned
to power, and his sons governed Athens after him.
The intervention of the Lauedsemoniau army was re-
quired in Attica to put au end to this family's rule.
The ancient aristocracy had for a moment the hope
of profiting by the fall of Peisistratus, and regaining
its privileges. They not only failed of this, but re-
ceived a still ruder blow. Cleisthenes, who belonged
to this class, but who was of a family which it had
covered with opprobrium, and had seemed to reject for
three generations, found the surest means of taking
away the little of its power that still remained. Solonj
in changing the constitution, had retained the old reli-
gious organization of Athenian society. The population
remained divided into two or three hundred gentes,
into twelve phratries, and four tribes. In each one of
these groups there were, as in the preceding period, an
hereditary worship, a priest, who was a Eupatrid, uud
a chief; who was the same as the priest. All this was
a relic of the past, which disappeared slowly. Through
this the traditions, the usages, the rules, the distinct
lions that existed in the old social state, were perpetu-
376 THE EEVOLUTIONS. BOOK. IT.
ated. All these had been established by religion, and
in theii- turn they maintained religion — that is to say,
the power of the great families. There were in each
of these organizations two classes of men. On the
one side were the Eupatrids, who had, by right of
birth, the priesthood and the authority ; on the other,
men of an inferior condition, who were no longer either
slaves or clients, but who were still retained by reli-
gion under the authority of the Eupatrids. In vain did
tlie laws of Solon declare that all Athenians were free.
The old religion seized a man as he went out of the
assembly where he had voted freely, and said to him,
" Thou art bound ( o the Eupatrid through worship ;
thou owest him respect, deference, submission ; as a
member of the city, Solon h.is freed thee ; but as a
member of a t : ibe, thou obeyest the Eupatrid ; as a
member of a pliratry, tlion also hast a Eupatrid for a
chief; in the family itself, in the gens where thou wert
born, and which thou canst not leave, thou still findest
the authority of the Eupatrid." Of what avail was it
that the political law had made a citizen of tliis man,
if religion and manners persisted in making him a cli-
ent ? For several generations, it is true, many men
lived outside these organizations, whether tliey had
come from foreign countries, 'or had escaped from the
gens .and the tribe, to be free. But these men suffered
in another w.<iy; they found themselves in a state of
moral inferiority compared with other men, and a sort
of ignominy was attached to their independence.
There was, therefore, after the political reform of So-
lon, anotlier reform to be made in the domain of reli-
gion. Cleisthenes accomplished it by suppressing the
four old religious tribes, and replacing them with ten
tribes, which were divided into demes.
CHAP. Vn. THE PLEBS ENTEU THE CITY. 377
These tribes and demes resembled in appearance the
ancient tribes and gentes. In each one of these or-
ganizations there were a worship, a priest, a judge,
assemblies for religious ceremonies, and assemblies to
deliberate upon the common interests.' But the new
groups differed from the old in two essential points.
First, all the free men of Athens, even those who
had not belonged to the old tribes and gentes, were
included in the divisions of Cleisthenes.* This was a
great reform ; it gave a worship to those who before
had none, and included in a religious association those
who had previously been excluded from every associa-
tion. In the second place, men were distributed in
the tribes and demes, not according to birth, as for-
merly, but according to their locality. Birth was of
no account; men were equal, and privileges were no
longer known. The worship for which the new tribe
and deme were established was no longer the heredita-
ry worship of an ancient family ; men no longer assem-
bled around the hearth of a Eupatrid. The tribe or
deme no longer venerated an ancient Eupatrid as a
divine ancestor ; the tribes had new eponymous heroes
chosen from among the ancient personages of whom
the people had preserved a grateful recollection, and as
for the demes, they uniformly adopted as their protect-
ing gods Zeus, the guardian of the walls, and the pater-
nal Apollo. Henceforth there was no reason why the
priesthood should be hereditary in the deme, as it had
been in the gens, or why the priest should always be
a Eupatrid. In the new groups the priestly office, as
' ^schines, in Ctesiph., 30. Demosthenes, in Eulul. Pol-
lux, VIII. 19, 95, 107.
= Aristotle, Politics, III. 1, 10; VII. 2. Scholiast on .ais-
chines, edit. Didot, p. 511.
378 THB BBvoLUTiorrs. book it.
well as that of the chief, was annual, and every mem-
ber might enjoy it in his turn.
This reform completed the overthrow of the aristoc-
racy of the Eupatrids. From this time there was no
longer a religious caste, no longer any privileges of
birth, either in religion or in politics. Athenian socie-
ty was completely transformed.'
Now, the suppression of the old tribes, replaced by
new ones, to which all men had access, and in which
they were equal, was not a- fact peculiar to the history
of Athens. The same change took place at Cyrene,
Sicyon, Elis, and Sjwrta, and probably in many other
Greek cities.'' Of all the means calculated to weaken
the ancient aristocracy, Aristotle saw none more effi-
cacious than Ibis : " If one wished to found a democ-
racy," he says, " he would proceed as Cleisthenes did
at Athens; he would establish- new tribes and new
phratiies ; for the hereditary family sacrifices he would
substitute sacrifices where all men might be admitted,
and he would associate and blend the peoi:)le together
as much as possible, being careful to break up all ante-
rior associations." '
When this reform has been accomplished in all the
cities, it may be said that the ancient mould of society
has been broken, and that a new social body has been
formed. This change in the organizations which the
ancient hereditary religion had established, and which
' The ancient phratrxes and the yhij were not suppressed ;
they continued, on the contrary, down to the close of Greek
history ; but they were thenceforth only religious bodies, and of
no account politically.
= Herodotus, V. 67, 68. Aristotle, Politics, VII. 2, 11. Pau-
sanias, V. 9.
' Aristotle, Politics, VII, 3, 11 (VI. 8).
CHAP. VII. THE PLEBS ENTER THE CITY. 379
it had declared immutable, marks the end of the reli-
gious government of the city.
3. Bistory of this' Mevolution at Home.
At Rome the plebs had a great inflaenoe at an
early date. The situation of the city, between the
Latins, the Sabines, and the Etruscans, condemned it
to perpetual war, aud war required that there should
be a numerous population. The kings, therefore, had
welcomed and invited all foreigners, without regard to
their origin. Wars succeeded each other without in-
termission, and as there was a need of men, the most
common result of every victory was to take away the
inhabitants of the conquered city and transfer them to
Rome. What became of these men, brought with the
booty ? If there were found among them patrician
and priestly families, the patricians hastened to associ-
ate them with themselves. As to the multitude, some
of them became the clients of the great, or of the
king, and a part were left with the plebs.
Still other elements entered into the composition of
this class. Many foreigners flocked to Rome, as a
place whose situation rendered it convenient for com-
merce. The discontented among the Sabines, the
Etruscans, and the Latins, found a refuge there. All
this class joined the plebs. The client who succeeded
in escaping from the gens became a plebeian. The
patrician, who formed a misalliance, or was guilty of
any crime that lost him his rank, fell into the inferior
class. Every bastard was cast out by religion from
pure fa^nilies, and counted among the plebs.
¥oc all these reasons the plebs increased in numbers.
The s-'; i?gle which had begun between the patricians
380 THE KBVOLUTIOKS. BOOK IV.
and the king increased their importance. The kings
and the plebs early felt that they had the same ene^
mies. The ambition of the kings was to cut loose
from the old principles of government, which limited
the exercise of their power. The ambitiofl of the ple-
beians was to break the anon nt barriers which exclud-
ed them from the religious and political associations.
A tacit alliance was established — the kings protected
the plebs, and the plebs sustained the kings.
The traditions and testimony of antiquity place the
great progress of the plebeians under the reign ofger-
vius. The hatred which the patricians preserved for
this king sufficiently shows what his policy was. His
first reform was to give lands to the plebeians, not, it
is true, in the ager Romanus, but in the territory
taken from the enemy ; still, this conferring the right
to own land upon families that had previously cultivat-
ed only the fields of others was none the less an in-
novation.'
What was graver still was, that he published laws
for the plebs, which had never been done before. These
laws, for the most part, related to obligations which the
plebeian might contract with the patrician. It was the
commencement of a common law between the two
orders, and for the plebs it was the commencement of
equality."
Later this same king established a new division in
the city. Without destroying the three ancient tribes,
where the patrician families and clients were classed
' Livy, I. 47. Dionysius, IV. 13. The preceding kings
had already distributed the lands taken from the enemy ; but it
is not certain that they admitted the plebs to share la the di-
vision.
» Dionysius, IV. 13; IV. 43.
CHAP. VII. THE PLEBS ENTER THE CITY. 381
according to rank, he formed four new tribes, in which
the entire population was distributed according to resi-
dence. We have seen this reform at Athens, and we
know what were its effects ; they were the same a%
Rome. The plebeians, who did not enter the ancient
tribes, were adtnitted into the new ones.' This multi-
tude, up to that time a floating mass, a species of no-
madic population that had no connection with the city,
had thenceforth its fixed divisions and its regular or-
ganization. The formation of these tribes, in which the
two orders were mingled, really marked the entrance
of the plebs into the city. Every tribe had a hearth
and sacrifices. Servius established Lares in every pub-
lic place of the city, in eveiy district of the country.
They served as divinities for those who had no rank.
The plebeian celebrated the religious festivals of his
quarter, and of his burgh {compitaliu,, paffanalia), as
the patrician celebrated the sacrifice of his gens and
of his cury. The plebeian had a religion.
At the same time a great change took place in the
sacred ceremony of the lustration. The people were
no longer ranged by curies, to the exclusion of those
whom the curies did not admit. All the free inhabit-
ants of Rome, all those who formed a part of the new
tribes, figured in the sacred act. For the first time all
men, without distinction Of patrician, or client, or ple-
beian, were united. The king walked around this
mixed assembly, driving victims before him, and sing-
ing solemn hymns. The ceremony finished, all alike'
found themselves citizens.
Before Servius, only two classes of men were dis-
tinguished at Rome — the sacerdotal caste of patri
' Dionysitts, I. 26.
382 THE EEVOLUTIONS. BOOK IV,
cians with their clients, and the plebeian class. ¥o
other distinction was known than that which religion
had established. Servius marked a new division, which
had wealth for its foundation. He divided the inhab-
itants of Rome into two gi-eat categories ; in the one
were those who owned property, in the other those
who had nothing. The first was divided into five
classes, in which men were divided off according to the
amount of their fortune.' By this means Servius in-
troduced an entirely new principle into Roman society;
wealth began to indicate rank, as religion had done
before.
Servius applied this division of the Roman popula-
tion to the military service. Before him, if the plebe-
ians fought, it was not in the ranks of the legion. But
as Servius had made proprietors and citizens of them,
he could also make them legionaries. From this time
the army was no longer composed of men exclusively
from the curies ; all free men, all those at least who
had property, made a part of it, and the poor alone
continued to be excluded. The rank of patrician or
client no longer determined the armor of each soldier
and his post in battle ; the army was divided by classes,
exactly like the population, according to wealth. The
first class, which had complete armor, and the two fol^
lowing, which had at least the shield, the helmet, and
' Modern historians generally reckon six classes. In reality
' there were but five : Cicero, De Sepub., II. 22 ; Aulua Gellius,
X. 28. The knights on the one hand, and the proletarii, poor
inhabitants, on the other, were not counted in the classes. We
must note, moreover, that the word classis had not, in the an-
cient language, a sense similar to our word class ; it was applied
to a military body ; and this shows that the division established
by Servius was rather military than political.
CHAP. Tir. THE PLEBS BNTKE THE CITY. 383
the sword, formed the three first lines of the legion.
The fourth and the fifth, being light-armed, made up
the body of skirmishers and slingers. Each class was
divided into companies, called centuries. The first of
these consisted, we are told, of eighty men ; the four
others twenty or thirty each. The cavalry was a sepa-
rate body, and in this arm also Servius made a gi-eat
innovation. Whilst up to that time the young patri-
cians alone made up the centuries of the knights, Ser-
vius admitted a certain number of plebeians, chosen
from the wealthiest, to fight on horseback, and formed
of these twelve new centuries.
Now, the army could not be touched without at the
same time modifying the political constitution. The
plebeians felt that their importance in the state had in-
creased: they had arms, discipline, and chiefs; every
century had its centurion and its sacred ensign. This
military organization was permanent; peace did not
dissolve it. The soldiers, it is true, on their return from
a campaign, quitted their ranks, as the law forbade
them to enter the city in military order. But after-
■wai'ds, at the first signal, the citizens resumed their
arms in the Campus Martius, where each returned to
his century, his centurion, and his banner. Now, it
happened, twenty-five years after Servius Tullius, the
army was called together without any intention of
making a military expedition. The army being as-
sembled, and the men having taken their ranks, every
century having its centurion at its head, and its ensign
in the centre, the magistrate spoke, proposed laws,
and took a vote. The six patrician centuries and the
twelve of the plebeian knights voted first ; after them
the centuries of infantry of the first class, and the others
in turn. Thus was established in a short time the
384 THE REVOLUTIONS. BOOK 17
comitia centuriata, where every soldier had the right
of suffrage, and where the plebeian and the patrician
were hardly distinguished.'
All these reforms made a singular change in the ap-
pearance of the Roman city. The patricians remained,
with their hereditary worehip, their curies, their senate.
But the plebeians became accustomed to indiepen-
dence, wealth, arms, and religion. The plebs were not
confounded with the patricians, but became strong by
the side of them.
The patricians, it is true, took their revenge. They
commenced by killing Servius ;' later, they banished
' It appears to us incontestable that the comitia by centuries
were identical with the Boman army. What proves this is, first,
that this assembly is often called the army by Latin writers :
vrbanus exercitus (Varro, VI. 93) ; qutim comitiorum causa exer-
citus ednctus esset (Livy, XXXIX. 15) ; miles ad suffragia, veca-
tur et comitia centuriata dicuntur (Ampelius, 48) : second, that
these cotaitia were convoked iexactly as the army was when it
entered on a campaign — that is to say, at the sound of a trum-
pet (Varro, V. 91) ; two standards floated from the citadel, one
red, to call the infantry, the other dark-green for the cavalry :
third, that these comitia were always held in the Campus
Martius, because the army could not assemble within the city
(Aulus Gellius, XV. 27) : fourth, that every voter went wiih his
arms (Dion Cassias, XXXVII.) ; fifth, that the voters were dis-
tributed by centuries, the infantry on one side, and the cavalry
on tlie other : sixth, that every century had at its head its cen-
turion and its ensign, Sffjrej Ir 7to;.f«(B{Dionysius, VII. 59) : sev-
enth, that men more than sixty years of age, not being a part of
the army, had not the right to vote in these comitia (Maerobiiis,
I. 5 ; Festus, v. Depontam). Then, in the ancient language, tire
word chassis signified a military body, and the word centuria de-
signated a military company. The proletarii did not appear in
this assembly at first; still, as it was a custom in the army to
form a century of laborers, they might form a century in the
con-itia.
CHAP. VII. THE PLEBS ENTKE THE CITY. 385
Tai-qiiin. The defeat of royalty was the defeat of thQ
plebs.
The patriqiaus attempted to take away from them
all the conquests which they had made uudfi- the kings.
One of the first acts was to take from them the lands
that Servins bad given them.; and we must remark, the
ouly reason given for despoiling them thus, was that
they were plebeians.' The patricians, therefore, re-
stored the old principkj which required that berecUtai-y
religion alone should establish the right of property,
and which did not permit a man without religion and
without ancestors to exercise any right over the soil.
The laws that Servius had made for the plebs were
also withdrawn. If the system of classes and the comi-
tia centuriata were not abolished by the patricians, it
was because the state of war did not allow them to dis-
organize the army, and also because they understood
how to surround the comitia with formalities such that
they could always control the elections. They dared
not take from the plebs the title of citizens, and allowed
them to figure in the census. But it is clear that, while
allowing the plebs to form a part of the city, they
shared with them neither political rights nor religion,
nor the laws. In name, the plebs remained in the
city; in fact, they were excluded.
Let us not unreasonably accuse the patricians, or
suppose that they coldly conceived the design of op-
pressing and crushing the plebs. The patrician who
was descended from a saered family, and felt himself
the heir to a worship, understood no other social system
than that whose rules had been traced by the ancient
religion. In his eyes the constituent element of every
' CasEius Hemina, in Nonius, Book II. v. PUvitus.
25
386 THE KEV0LUTI0N8. BOOK IV,
society was the gens, with its worship, its hereditary
chief, and its clientship. For him the city could not be
anything except an assembly of the chiefs of the gentes.
It did not enter his mind that there could be any other
political system than that which rested upon worship,
or other magistrates than those who performed the
public sacrifices, or other laws than those whose sacred
formulas religion had dictated. It was useless to say
to him that the plebeians also had within a short time
adopted a religion, and that they offered sacrifices to
the Lares of the public squares. He would reply that
this religion had not the essential character of a i-eal
religion, that it was not hereditary, that the fires were
not ancient fires, and that these Lares were not real
ancestors. He would have added, that the plebeians,
in adopting a worship, had done what they had no right
to do, and to obtain one, had violated all principle;
that they had taken only the external forms of worship,
and had neglected the essential principle ; it was not
hereditary; that, in fine, this image of religion was ab-
solutely the opposite of religion.
Since the patrician persisted in thinking that heredi-
tary religion alone should govern men, it followed that
he saw no religion possible for the plebs. He could
not understand how the social power could be regularly
exercised upon this class of men. The sacred law could
not be applied to them; justice was sacred ground,
which was forbidden to them. So long as there had
been kings, they had taken upon themselves to govern
the plebs, and they had done this according to certain
rules, which had nothing in common with the ancient
religion, and which necessity or the public interest had
produced. But by the revolution, which had abolished
royalty, religion had assumed its empire ; it necessarily
CHAP. vn. THE PLBBS ENTEE THE CITY. 387
followed that the whole plebeian class were placed be-
yond the reach of social laws.
The patricians then established a government con-
fonnable to their own principles; but they had not
dreamed of establishing one for the plebs. The patri-
cians had not the courage to drive the plebeians from
Rome, but they no longer found the means of organizing
them into a regular society. We thus see, in the midst
of Rome, thousands of families for wbich there ex-
isted no fixed laws, no social order, no magistrates. The
city, the populus, — that is to say, the patrician society,
with the client that had remained to it, — arose powerful,
organized, majestic. About it lived a plebeian multi-
tude, which was not a people, and did not form a body.
The consuls, the chiefs of the patrician city, maintained
order in this confused population ; the plebeians obeyed ;
feeble, generally poor, they bent under the power of
the patrician body.
The problem that was to decide the future of Rome
was this : How can the plebs become a regular society ?
Now, the patricians, governed by the rigorous prin-
ples of their religion, saw only one means of resolviijg
this problem ; this was to adopt the plebs, as clients,
into the sacred organization of the gentes. It .appears
that one attempt was made in this direction. The
question of debts, which agitated Rome at this period,
can only be explained, if we see in it the more grave
question of clientship and slavery. The Roman plebs.
robbed of their lands, were no longer able to support
themselves. The patricians calculated that, by the
sacrifice of a little money, they could bring this poor
class into their hands. The plebeian began to borrow.
In borrowing, he gave himself up to the creditor — sold
himself. It was so much a sale that it was a transac-
388 THE EBVOLUTIONS. BOOK IV.
tion per ces et libram — that is to say, with the solemn
formality which was commonly employed to conifer
upon a man the right of property in any object.' The
plebeian, it is true, took security against slavery. By a
sort of fiduciary contract, he stipulated that he should
retain his rank of freeman until the day of the pay-
ment, and that on that day he should recover full pos-
session of himself on paying the debt. But on that
day, if the debt was not paid, he lost the benefit of his
contract. He was in the power of his creditor, who
took him to his house and made him his client and
servant. In all this the creditor did not think he was
committing any act of inhumanity ; the ideal of society
being, in his eyes, the government of the gens, he saw
notliing more legitimate or more commendable than to
bring men into it by any means possible. If this plan
had succeeded, the plebs would have disappeared in
little time, and the Roman city would have been noth-
ing but an association of patrician gentea, sharing
among them a multitude of clients.
But this clientship was a chain which the plebeian
held in horror. He fought against the patrician who,
armed with his debt, wished to make a client of him.
Clientship was for him equivalent to slavery ; the pa-
trician's house was, in his eyes, a prison (ergastuluim).
Many a time the plebeian, seized by the patrician, called
upon his associates, and stiried up the plebeians, cry-
ing that he was a free man, and displaying the wounds
which he had received in the defence of Rome. The
calculation of the patricians only served to irritate the
plebs. They saw the danger, and strove with all their
' Varro, L. L., VII. 105. Livy, VIII. 28. Aulus Gellius,
XX. 1. f estus, V. Nextmi.
(!HAP. VII. THE PLEB8 ENTEB THE CITY. 38-9
energy to free themselves from this precarious state, in
which the fall of the royal governm*!!* had placed
them. They wished to have laws and rights.
But it does not appear that these men aspired at
■first to share the laws and rights of the patricians.
Pei-haps they thought, with the patricians themselves,
that there eonld "be nothing in common between the
two orders. KTo one thought of civil and political
equality. That the plebeians could raise themselves
to the level of the patricians, never entered the minds
of the plebeian of the first centuries any more tha-n it
•occurred to the paifcrician.
Ear, therefore, from claiming equality of rights and
'laws, these men seem to have preferred, at first, com-
plete separation. In Rome they found no remedy for
their sufferings ; they saw but one means of escaping
from their inferiority — this was to depart from Rome.
The historian has well expressed their thoughts when
lie attributes this language to them : " Since the patri-
cians wish to possess the city alone, let them enjoy it
at their ease. For us Rome is nothing. We have
neither heaiiths, nor sacrifices, nor country. We only
leave a foreign city ; no hei'editary religion attaches
us to this place. Ej^ery land is good for us ; where
we find liberty, there shi^l be our country." ' And
they went to tate up their abode on the Sacred iM^ount,
beyond the limits of the ager Momanus.
In view of such an act the senate was divided in
•opinion. The more airdemt of the patricians showed
xleai'ly that the departure of the plebs was far from
afflicting them.. Thenceforth the patricians alone
would remain aH Rome with the clients that were still
' Dionysius, VJ. 45, 79.
390 THE EEVOLUTIONS. BOOK IV.
faithful to them. Rome would renounce its future
grandeur, but the patricians would be masters there.
They would no longer have these plebeians to trouble
them, to whom the rules of ordinary government could
not be applied, and who were an embarrassment to the
city. They ought, perhaps, to have been driven out
at the same time with the kings ; but since they had
of themselves taken the Resolution to depart, the pa
triciaus ought to let them go, and rejoice at their de-
parture.
But others, less faithful to old principles, or solici-
tous for the grandeur of Rome, were afl3.icted at the
departure of the plebs. Rome would lose half its sol-
diers. What would become of it in the midst of the
Latins, Sabines, and Etruscans — all enemies ? The
plebs had good qualities ; why could not these be made
use of for the interests of the city ? These senators
desired, therefore, at a cost of a few concessions, of
which they did not perhaps see all the consequences,
to bring back to the city those thousands of arms that
made the strength of the legions.
On the other side, the plebs perceived, at the ebd of
a few months, that they could not live upon the Sacred
Mount. They procured, indeed, what was materially
necessary for existence, but all that went to make up
an organized society was wanting. They could not
found a city there, because they could not find a priest
who knew how to perform the religious ceremony of
the foundation. They could not elect magistrates, for
they had no prytaneum with its perpetual fire, where
the magistrate might sacrifice. They could find no
foundation for social laws, since the only laws of which
men then had any idea were derived fi-om the patrician
religion. In a word, they had not among them the ele-
CHAP. Til. THE PLEBS ENTER THE CITF. 391
ments of a city. The plebs saw clearly that by beiug
more independent they were not happier; that ihey did
not form a more regular society than at Rome ; and
that the problem, whose solution was so important tt»
them, was not solved. They had gained nothing by
leaving Rome ; it was not in the isolation of the Sacred
Mount that they could find the laws and the rights to
which they aspired.
It was found, therefore, that the plebs and patricians,
though they had almost nothing in common, could
not live without each other. They came together
and concluded a treaty of iilliance. This treaty ap-
pears to have been made on the same terms as those
which terminate a war between two different peoples.
Plebeians and patricians were indeed neither the same
people nor the same city. By this treaty the patrician
did not agree that the plebeian should make a part of
the religious and political city ; it does not appear that
the pk-bs demanded it. They agreed merely that in
the future the plebs, having been organized' into some-
thing like a regular society, should have chiefs taken
from their own number. This is the origin of the
tribuneship of the plebs — an entirely new institution,
which resembled nothing that the city had known
before.
The power of the tribunes was not of the same na-
ture as the authority of the magistrates ; it was not
derived from the city worship. The tribune perfoniied
no religious ceremony. He was elected without the
auspices, and the consent of the gods was not neces-
sary to create him.' He had neither curule chair, nor
purple robe, nor crown of leaves, nor any of those
' Dionysius, X. Plutarch, Rom. Quest., 8i.
392 THE EEVOLUTIONS. BOOK IV.
insignia which, in all the ancient cities, designated ma-
gistrates and priests, for the veneration of men. He
was never counted among the Roman magistrates.
What, then, was the nature, and what was the princi-
ple, of his power? Here we must banish (i-om our
minds all modern ideas and habits, and transport our-
selves as much as possible into the midst of the ideas
of the ancients. Up to that time men had understood
political authority only as an appendage to the priest-
hood. Thus, when they wished to establish a power
that was not connected with worship, and chiefe who
were not pnestB, they were forced to resort to a singu-
lar de\ice. For this, the day on which they created
the first tribune, tkey performed a religious ceremony
bf a peculiar chnractei'.' Historians do not describe
the rites ; they iTtorely say that the effect was to render
these first triliunes sacrosancti. Now, these woi-ds
signified that the body of the tribune should be reck-
oned thenceforth among the objects which religion
forbade to be touched, and whose simple touch made
a man unclean." Thus it happened, if some devout
Roman, some 'patridian, met a tribune in the public
street, he made it a duty to purify himself on return-
ing home, "as if his body had been defilod simply by
tlie meeting."' This sacrosanct chai-acter remained
attached to the tribune during the wliole term of his
office ; then in creating his successor, he ti'ansmitted
' Livy,, III. 55.
^ This is the proper sense of the word sacer. Flautns Bacch.,
IV. 6, 13. Catullus, XIV. 12. Festus, v. Sacer. Macrobius, III.
7. According to Livy, the epithet sacrosanctus was not at
first applied to the tribune, but to the man who injured the;per-
son of the tribune.
^ Plutarch, Rom,. Quest., 81.
CHAP. VII. THE PLEBS ENTEE THE CITY. 893
llie same character to him, just as the consul, in creat-
ing other consuls, parsed to them the auspices, and thfe
power to perform the sacred rites. Later, the tribune-
ship having been interrupted ■during two years, it was
necessary, in order to establish the new tribunes, to
renew the religious ceremony which had been per-
formed on the Sacred Mount.
We do not sufficiently understand the ideas of the
ancients, to say -whether this sacrosanct eharacter
rendered the person of the tribune bonoj-able in tlw
eyes of the patricians, x>v marked him, on tbe contrary,
as an object of maledittion and horror. The second
conjeQture is more in accordance with probability.
What is certain is, that in every way the tribune was
inviolable; the band of a patrician could not touch
him without grave impiety.
A law conferred and guaranteed this inviolability ;
it declared that "no person should use violence to-
wards a tribune, or strike him, or kill him" It added
that " whoever committed one of these acts against a
tribune should be impure, that his property should be
confiscated to the profit of the temple of Ceres, and that
one might kill him with impunity." The law conclud-
ed in these words, whose vagueness powerfully aided
the future progress of the tribuneship : " No magis-
trate, or private person, shall "have the right to do •any-
thing against a tribune." All the citizens took an oath
by which they agreed always to observe this strange
latv, calling flffwn upon their heads the wrath of the
gods if thfijy violated it, and added that whoever ren-
dered himself guilty of an attempt against a tribune
"should be tainted with the deepest impurity." '
> DionysiuB, VI. 89; X. 82, 42.
394 THE EBVOlUTIOirS. BOOK lY.
This privilege of inviolability extended as far as the
body of the tribune could extend its direct action. If
a plebeian was maltreated by a consul who condemned
him to imprisonment, or by a creditor who laid hands
on him, the tribune appeared, placed himself between
them {inter cessio), and stayed the patrician hand.
Who would have dared " to do anything against a
tribune," or expose himself to be touched by him.
But the tribune exercised this singular power only
where he was present. Out of his presence plebeians
might be maltreated. He had no power over what
took place beyond the reach of his hands, of his sight?
of his word.'
The patricians had not given the plebeians rights ;
ihey had only ngreed that certain ones among them
should be inviolable. Still this was enough to afford
some security to all. The tribune was a sort of living
altai', to which the right of refuge was attached.
The tribunes naturally became the chiefs of the plebs,
and assumed the power of deciding causes for them.
They had not, it is true, the right of citing before them
even a plebeian, but they could seize upon a person."
Once in their hands, the man obeyed. It was suffi-
cient even to be found within the circle where their
voice could be heard; this word was irresistible, and a
man had to submit, even if he were a patrician or a
consul.
The tribune had no political authority. Not being
a magistrate, he could not convoke the curies or the
' Triiuni antiquitua creati, non j'uri dicundo nee causis que-
relisque de ataentibtts noscendis, sed intercessionibus faciendis
quibua prasentes fuissent, ut injuria qua coram fieret at cere
tur. Aulus Gellius, XIII. 12.
« Aulus Gellius, XV. 27. Djojiysjus, VIH. 87; VI. 90.
CHAP. VII. THE PLEBS ENTER THE CITY. 395
centuries. He could make no proposition in the sen-
ate ; it was not supposed, in the beginning, that he
could appear there. He had nothing in common with
the real city — that is to say, with the patrician city,
where men did not recognize any authority of Ids. He
was not the tribune of the people ; he was the tribune
of the plebs.
There were then, as previously, two societies in
Rome — the city and the plebs ; the one strongly organ-
ized, having laws, magistrates, and a senate ; the other
a multitude, which remained without rights and laws,
but which found in its inviolable tribunes protectors
and judges.
In succeeding years we can see how the tribunes
took courage, and what unexpected powers they as-
sumed. They had no authority to convoke the peo-
ple, but they convoked them. ' Nothing called them to
the senate ; they sat at first at the door of the cham-
ber ; later they sat within. They had no power to
judge the patricians; they judged them and con-
demned them. This was the result of the inviolability
attached to them as sacrosancti. Every other power
gave way before them. The patricians were disarmed
the day tliey had pronounced, with solemn rites, that
whoever touched a tribune should be impure. The
law said, "Nothing shall be done against a tribune."
If, then, this tribune convoked the plebs, the plebs
assembled, and no one could dissolve this assembly,
which the presence of the tribune placed., beyond the
power of the patricians and the laws. If the tribune
entered the senate, no one could 'compel him to retire.
If he seized a consul, no one could take the consul
from his hand. Nothing could resist the boldness of
a tribune. Against a tribune no one had any power,
except another tribune.
396 THE KE VOLITIONS. BOOK IV.
As soon as the plebs thus had their c'hiefs, they did
not wait long before they had deliberative assemblies.
These did not in any manner resemble those of the
patricians. The plebs, in their eomitia, were distrib-
uted into tribes; the domicile, not reli^oo or wealth,
regulated the place of each one. The assembly did
not commence with a sacrifice ; religion did not appear
there. They knew nothing of presages, and the voice
of an augur, or a pontiff, could not compel men to sep-
arate. It was really the eomitia of the plebs, and they
had nothing of the old rules, or of the religion of the
patricians.
True, these assemblies did not at first occupy them-
selves with the general interests of the city; they
named no magistrates, and passed no laws. They de-
liberated only on the interests of their own order,
named the plebeian chiefs, and carried plebiscita.
There was at Rome, for a long time, a double series
of decrees — sendtusconsulta for the patricians, pie-
hiscita for the ple^bs. The plebs did not obey the sen-
atusconsulta, nor the patricians the plebiscita. There
were two peoples at Rome.
These two peoples, always in presence of each other,
and living within the same walls, still had almost noth-
ing in common. A plebeian could not be consul of the
city, nor a patrician tribune of the plebs. The ple-
beian did not enter the assembly by curies, nor the
patrician the assembly of the tribes.'
They were two peoples that did not even understand
' Livy, II. 60. Dionysius, VII. 16. Festus, v. Sdta plebis.
We speak only of the earliest times. The patricians were en-
rolled in the tribes, bnt certainly took no part in assemblies which
met without auspices and without a religious ceremony, and in
which for a long time they recognized no legal authority.
CHAP. VII. THE PLEBS ENTER THE, CITY. 397
each other, not having — so to speak — common ideas,,
If the patrician spoke in the name of religion and the
laws, the plebeian replied that he did not know this
hereditary religion, or the laws that flowed from it.
If the patrician alleged a sacred custom, the plebeian
replied in the name of the law of nature. They re-
proached each other with injustice ; each was just ac-
cording to his own principles,, and unjust according to
the principles and beliefs of the other.. The assembly
of the curies and the reunion of the patres seemed to
the plebeian odious privilegesw In the assembly of the
tribes the patrician sa flf a meeting condemned by re-
ligion. The consulship was for the plebs an arbitrary
and tyrannical authority ; the tribuneship, in the eyes
of the patrician, was something impious, abnormal, con-
trary to all principles ; be could not understand this
sort of chief, who was not a priest, and who was elected
without auspices. ^.The tribuneship deranged the sa-
cred order of the city ; it was what a heresy is in re-
ligion— the public worship was destroyed. "The
gods will be against us,'' said a patrician, " so long as we
have among us this ulcer, which is eating us up, and
which extends its corruption to the whole social body."
The history of Rome, during a century, was filled with
similar discords between these two peoples, who did
not seem to speak the same language. The patricians
persisted in keeping the plebs without the body poli-
tic, and the plebs established institutions of their own,
The duality of the Roman population became from day
to day more manifest.
And yet there was something which formed a tie
between these two peoples : this was war. The patri-
cians were careful not to deprive themselves ot sol-
diers. They had left to the plebeians the. title of citi
398 THE REVOLUTIONS. BOOK. IV.
zens, if only to incorporate them into the legions.
They had taken care, too, that the inviolability of the
tribunes should not extend outside of Rome, and for
this purpose had decided that a tribune should never
go out of the city. In the army, therefore, the plebs
were under control; there was no longer a double
power ; in presence of the enemy Rome became one.
Then, thanks to the custom, begun after the expul.
sion of the kings, of assembling the army to consult on
public interests and on the choice of magistrates, there
were mixed assemblies, where the plebeians appeared
by the side of the patricians. Now we see clearly in
history that the comitia by centuries became more
and more important, and became insensibly what were
called the great comitia. Indeed, in the conflict which
sprang up between the assembly by curies and tlie
assembly by tribes, it seemed natural that the comitia
centuriata should become a sort of neutral ground,
where general interest would be debated.
The plebeian was not always poor. Often he be-
longed to a family which was originally from another
city, which was there rich and influential, and whom
the fate of war had transported to Rome witliout taking
away his wealth, or the sentiment of dignity that ordi-
narily accompanies it. Sometimes, too, the plebeian
]iad become rich by his labor, especially in the time of
the kings. When Servius had divided the population
into classes according to their fortunes, some plebeians
belonged to the first class. The patricians had not
dared, or had not been able, to abolish this division into
classes. There was no want of plebeians, therefore, who
fought by the side of the patricians in the foremost
ranks of the legion, and who voted with them in the
first centuries.
OnAF. VII. THE PLEBS ENTEK THE CITY. 399
This class, rich, haughty, and prudent as well, who
could not have been pleased with disturbances, and
must have feared them, who had much to lose if Rome
fell, and much to gain if it prospered, was a natural
mediator between the two hostile orders.
It does not appear that the plebs felt any repugnance
at seeing distinctions of wealth established among
them. Thirty-six years after the establishment of the
tribuneship, the number of tribunes was increased to
ten, that there might be two for each of the five classes.
The plebs, then, accepted and clung to the division
which Servius had established. And even the poorer
portion, which was not comprised in the classes, made
no complaint ; it left the privileges to the wealthier,
and did not demand its share of the tribunes.
As to the patricians, tiiey had little fear of the im-
portance which wealth assumed, for they also were
rich. Wiser or more fortunate than the Eupatrids of
Athens, who were annihilated on the day that the direc-
tion of affairs fell to the rich, the patricians never neg-
lected agriculture, or commerce, or even manufactures.
To increase their fortunes was always their great care.
Labor, frugality, and .good speculations were always
their virtues. Besides, every victory over an enemy,
every conquest, increased their possessions; and so
they saw no great evil in uniting power and wealth.
The habits and character of the nobles were such
that they could not feel contempt for a rich man even
though he was a plebeian. The rich plebeian ap-
proached them, lived with them, and many relations
of interest and friendship were established. This per-
petual contact brought about a change of ideas. The
plebeian made the patrician understand, little by little,
the wishes and the rights of his class. The patrician
400 THE KKVOLtTTIONS. BOOK IV.
ended by being convinced. Insensibly he came to have
a less firm and haughty opinion of his superiority;,
he was no longer so sure about his rights. Now, an
aristocracy, when it comes to doubt that its empire is
legitimate, either no longer has the courage to defend
it, or defends it badly. As soon as the prerogatives
of the patricians were no longer an article of faith for
them, this order might be said to be half vanquished.
The rich men appear to have exercised an influence
of another kind on the plebs, from whom they sprang,
and from whom they did not yet sejjarate. As they
desired the greatness of Rome, they wished for the
union of the two orders. Besides, they were amlatious ;
they calculated that the absolute separation of the two
orders forever limited their own career, by chaining theni
forever to tlie inferior class, whilst a union would open
a way to them, the end of which they could not see.
They tried, therefore, to give the ideas and wishes of
the plebeians another direction. Instead of persisting
in forming a separate order, instead, of making laws for
themselves which the other order would never recog-
nize, instead of working slowly by plebiscita to make a
species of laws for their own use,_and to prepare a code
which would have no ofiicial value, they inspired ihe
plebs with the idea of penetrating into the patrician
city, and sharing its laws, institutions, and dignities.
Prom that time the desires of the plebs turned to a
union of the two orders on the condition of equality.
The plebs, once started in this direction, began to
demand a code. Theie were laws at Rome, as in all
cities, unchangeable and holy laws, which were written,
and the text of which was preserved by priests.' But
these laws, which were a part of the religion, applied
' Dionysius, X, 1.
CHAP. Vn. THE fLEBS ENTER THE CITY, 401
6nly to the members of the religious city. The plebe-
ians had no right to know them ; and we may believe
that they had no right to claim their protection. These
laws existed for the curies, for the gentes, for the pa-
tricians iand their clients, but not for others. They did
not recognize the right to hold property in one who
had no sacra j they granted justice to no one who had
not a patron. It was the exclusively religious character
of the law that the plebs wished to abolish. They de-
manded not only that the lawfe should be reduced to
writing dnd made public, but that there should be laws
that should be equally applicable to the patricians and
themselvesi
The tribunes wished at first, it appears, that the laws
should be drawn up by the plebeians. The patricians
replied, that apparently the tribunes were ignorant of
what a law was, for otherwise they would not have
made such a claim. " It is a complete impossibility,"
said they, "for the plebeians to make laws. You who
have no auspices, you who do not perform religious
acts, what have yon in common with sacred things,
among which the laws must be counted?"' This
notion of the plebeians appeared monstrous to the pa-
tricians; and the old annals, which Livy and Dionys-
ius of HalicarnassHS consulted in this part of their his-
tories, mention frightful prodigies ^^- the heavens on fire,
spectres leaping in the air, and showers of blood." The /^
real prodigy was that the plebeians thought of making
laws. Between the two ordersj each of which was
astonished at the persistence of the other, the republic
remained eight years in suspense. Then the tribunes
made a compromise. " Since you sire unwilling that the
' Livy, III. 31. Dionysius, X. 4. ' Julius Obsequens, 1(5
26
402 THB EB VOLUTIONS. BOOK IV.
laws should be written by the plebeians," they said,
"choose the legislators in the two orders." By this
they thought they were conceding a great deal; but
it was little according to the rigorous principles of the
patrician religion. The senate replied that it was in
no way averse to the preparation of a code, but that this
code could be drawn up only by patricians. Finally,
they found a means of conciliating the interests of the
plebs with the religious requirements on which the pa-
tricians depended. They decided that the legislators
should all be patricians, but that their code, before be-
ing promulgated and put in force, should be exhibited
to the eyes of the public, and submitted to the appro-
bation of all classes.
This is not the moment to analyze the code of the
decemvirs. It is only necessary at present to remark,
that the work of the legislators, primarily exposed in
the forum, and freely discussed by all the citizens, was
afterwards accepted by the comitia centuriata — the
assembly in which the two orders were confounded.
In this there was a grave innovation. Adopted by all
the classes, the law thenceforth was applied to all.
We do not find, in what remains to us of the code, a
oingle word that implies any inequality between the
plebeian and the patrician, either in the rights of prop-
erty, or in contracts and obligations, or in legal pro-
ceedings. From that moment the plebeian aj-peared
before the same tribunal as the patrician, proceeded in
the same manner, and was judged according to the
same law. Now, there could not have been a more
radical revolution ; the daily usages, the manners, the
sentiments of man towards man, the idea of personal
dignity, the principles of law, all were changed in
Rome.
CHAP. Vn. THE PLEBS ENTER THE CITT. 403
As there remained laws to make, new decemvirs
were appointed, and among them were three plebeians.
Thus, after it had been proclaimed with so much energy
that the making of laws belonged to the patrician class,
so rapid was the progress of ideas that at the end of a
year plebeians were admitted among the legislators.
The manners tended towards equality. Men were
upon an incline where they could no longer hold back.
It had become necessary to make a law forbidding
marriage between the two orders — a certain proof that
religion and manners no longer suflSced to prevent this.
But hardly had they had time to make the law, when
it fell before an almost universal reprobation. A few
patricians persisted, indeed, in calling upon their re-
ligion. " Our blood will be attainted, and the hereditary
worship of every family will be destroyed by it ; no one
will any longer know of what race he is born, to what
sacrifices he belongs; it will be the overthrow of all
institutions, human and divine.'' The plebeians did not
heed these arguments, which appeared to them mere
quibbles without weight. To discuss articles of faith
before men who had no religion was time lost. Be-
sides, the tribunes replied very justly, "If it is true that
your religion speaks so loud, what need have you .of
this law? It is of no account; withdraw it, you re-
main as free as before not to ally yourselves w ith ple-
beian families." The law was withdrawn.
At once marriages became frequent between the two
orders. The rich plebeians were so sought after, that,
to speak only of the Licinii, they allied themselves
with three of the patrician gentes, the Fabii, the Cor-
ueili, and the Manlii." It could then be seen that the
' Livy, V. 12; VI. 34, 39.
404 THE EEVOLUTIOITS. BOOK IV.
law had been for a moment the only baiTier which
separated the two orders. Thenceforth the patrician
blood and plebeian blood were mingled.
As soon as equality was conquered in private life, the
great difficulty was overcome, and it seemed natural that
equality should also exist in politics. The plebs then
asked why the consulship was closed to them, and they
saw no reason why they should be withheld from it.
There was, however, a very potent reason. The
consulship was not simply a command ; it was a priest-
hood. To be a consul it was not sufficient to offer
guarantees of intelligence, of courage, of probity ; the
consul must also be able to perform the ceremonies of
the public worship. It was necessary that the rites
should be duly observed, and that the gods should be
satisfied. Now, the patricians alone possessed the sa-
cred character which permitted them to pronounce the
prayers, and to call down the divine protection upon
the city. The plebeian possessed nothing in common
with the worship ; religion, therefore, forbade him to
be consul — 'iiefas plebeium consulem fieri.
We may imagine the surprise and indignation of the
patricians, when plebeians claimed for the first time the
right to be consuls. Religion itself appeared to be
menaced. The nobles took a great deal of pains to
make the plebs understand this ; they told fhem how
important religion was to the city, that religion had
founded the city, and that it presided over all public
acts, dii'ected the deliberative assemblies, and gave
the republic its magistrates. They added, that this
religion was, according to ancient customs (more ma-
jonem), the patrimony of the patricians, that its rites
could be known and practised only by them, and, in
fine, that the gods would not accept the sacrifice of a
CHAF. Vn. THE PLEBS ENTEE THE CITY. 405
plebeian. To propose to have plebeian consuls was to
wish to suppress the religion of the city. Thenceforth
the worship would be impure, and the city would no
longer be at peace with its gods.'
The patricians used all theii' influence and all their
address to keep the plebeians from the magistracies,
They were defending at the same time their religion
and their power. As soon as they saw that the con
sulship was in danger of falling into the hands of plebe-
ians, they separated from it the religious function which
was the most important of all, — that which consisted
in making the lustration of the citizens, — and thus the
censorship was established. At the moment when it
seemed impossible to resist the claims of the plebeians,
the consulship was replaced by the military tribune-
ship. But the plebs showed great patience ; they waited
seventy-five years before their hopes were realized.
It is clear that they displayed less ardor in obtaining
the high magistracies than they had ehown in conquer^
ing the tribuneship and a code.
But if the plebs were somewhat indifferent, there
was a plebeian aristocracy that was ambitions. Here'
is a legeiid of this period : " Fabius Ambustus, one of
the most distinguished of the patricians, had man'ied
his two daughters, one to a patrician, who became a
military tribune, the other to Licinius Stolo, a promi-
nent plebeian. This plebeian's wife was one day at the
house of her sister, when the lictors, conducting the
military tribune tq his house, struck the door with
their fasces. As she was ignorant of this usage, she
showed signs of fear. The laughter and the ironical
questions of her sifter showed her how much a plebe-
• Livy, VI. il.
406 THE aEVOLUTIONS. BOOK IV.
ian marriage had degraded her by placing her in a
house wliere dignities and honors could never enter.
Her father guessed her cause of trouble, and consoled
her by promising that she should see at her own house
what she had seen at her sister's. He planned with
his son-in-law, and both worked with the same object
in view." This legend teaches us two things — one,
that the plebeian aristocracy, by living with the patri-
cians, shared their ambitions, and aspired to their dig-
nities ; the other, that there were patricians who encour-
aged and excited the ambition of this new aristocracy,
which was united with them by the closest ties.
It appears that Licinius and Sextius, who was joined
with him, did not calculate that the plebs would make
great efforts to gain the right of being consuls; for
they thought it necessary to propose three laws at the
same time. The one, the object of which was to make
it imperative that one of the consuls should be chosen
from the plebs, was preceded by two others, one of
which diminished the debts, and the other gi'anteJ
lands to the people. The two first, it is evident, were
intended to warm up the zeal of the plebs in favor of
the third. For a moment the plebs were too clear-
sighted ; they fell in with the laws that were for them,
— the reduction of debts, and the distribution of lands,
— and gave little heed to the consulship. But Licini-
us replied that the three laws were inseparable, and
that they must be accepted or rejected together. The
Homan constitution authorized this course. Very natu-
rally the plebs preferred to accept all, rather than to lose
all. But it was not enough that the plebs wished to
make these laws. It was also necessary at that time that
the senate should convoke the great comitia, and should
w
CHAP. Vll. THE FLEBS ENTEE THE CITY. 407
afterwards confinn the decree.' It refused for ten years '
to do this. Finally an event took place which Livy
has left too much in the shade." It appears that the
plebs took arms, and that civil war raged in the streets
of i'ome. The patricians, when conquered, approved
and confirmed in advance, by a senatusconsultum, all
the decrees which the people should pass during that
year. Now, nothing prevented the tribunes from pass-
ing their three laws. From that time the plebs had
every year one of the two consuls, and they were not
long in succeeding to other magistracies. The plebeian
wore the purple dress, and was preceded by the fasces ;
he administered justice; he was a senator; he gov-
erned the city, and commanded the legions.
The priesthoods remained, and it did not seem as if
these could be wrested from the patricians; for, in the
old religion, it was an unchangeable dogma that the
light of reciting the prayers, and of touching sacred
objects, was transmitted with the blood. The knowl-
edge of the rites, like the possession of the gods, was
hereditary. In the same manner as the domestic wor-
ship was a patrimony, in which no foreigner could take
part, the worship of the city, also, belonged exclusively
to the families that had formed the primitive city. As-
suredly, in the first centuries of Rome, it would not
have entered the mind of any one that a plebeian
could be a pontiff; but ideas had changed. The ple-
beians, by taking from religion its hereditary character,
had made a religion for their own use. They h;id
made for themselves domestic Lares, altars in public
squares, and a hearth for the tribes. At first the patri-
cians bad nothing but contempt for this parody upon
• Livy, IV. 49. ' Livy, IV. 42.
408 THE EB VOLUTIONS. BOOK. IV.
their religion. But, with the lapse, of time, it became
a serious thing, and the plebeian came to believe that,
even as to worship and the gods, he was equal to the par
trician.
Here wei'e two opposing principles in action. The
patrician persisted in declaring that the sacerdotal
character and tl^e right of adoring the divinity were
hereditary. The plebs fi-eed religion and the pries^
hood from the old hereditary character, and main-
tained that every man was qualified to pronounce
prayers, and that, provided one was a citizen, he had
the right to perform the ceremonies of the city wor-
ship. He thus arrived at the conclusion that a plebe
ian might be a prii'jst.
If the priestly offices had been distinct from the mill
tary commands, iind from politics, it is possible that the
plebeians wouM not have coveted them so ardently.
But all these things were confounded. The priest was
a magistrate; the pontiff was a judge; the augur could
dissolve the public assemblies. The plebeians did not
fail to perceive that, without the priesthoods, they had
not really civil or political equa,lity. They therefore
claimed that the pontificate should be shared by the
two orders, as the consulship had been.
It became difficult to allege their religions incapacity
as an objection, since, for sixty yeai's, plebeians had
been seen, as consuls, performing the sacrifices; as
censors, making the lustrations ; as conquerors of the
enemy, fulfilling the sacred formalities of the triumph.
Through the magistracies the plebs had already gained
possession of a part of the priestly offiet- s ; it was not
easy to save the rest. Faith in the hereditary princi-
ple of religion had been destroyed among the patricians
themselves. In vain a few among then^ invoked the
CHAP. Tn. THS FLEBS ENTEB THE CITY. 409
ancient rules, declaring, " The worship will oe changed
and sullied by unworthy hands ; you are attacking the
gods themselves; take care that their anger is not felt
against our city." It does not seem that these argu-
ments had mweh influence with the plebs, or even that
the majority of the patricians were moved by them.
The new manners gave tlie advantage to the plebeian
principle. It was decided, therefore, that half of the
pontiffs and augurs should, from that time, be chosen
among the plebs.'
This was the last conquest of the lower orders; they
had nothing more to wish for. The patricians had lost
even their religious superiority. Nothing distinguished
them now from the plebs ; the name patrician was now
only a souvenir. The old principle upon which the
Roman city, like all ancient cities, had been founded,
had disappeared. Of this ancient, hereditary religion,
which had so long governed men, and which had es-
tablished ranks among them, there now remained only
the exterior forms. The plebeian had struggled against
it for four centuries, — under the republic and under
the kings, — and bad conquered.
* The. dignities of king of the sacriflcea, qf flamena, salii, and
vestal?, to which no political inipprtance was attached, were left
without danger in the hands of the patricians, who always re-
mained a sacred caste, but who were no longer a dominant caste.
410 THE EEVOLUTIOlfS. BOOK IV.
CHAPTER VIII.
Changes in Private Law. The Code of the Twelve Ta<
bles. The Code of Solon.
It is not in the nature of law to be absolute and un-
changeable; it is modified and transformed, like every
human work. Every society has its laws, which are
formulated and developed with it, which change with
it, and which, in fine, always follow the movements of
its institutions, its manners, and its religious beliefs.
Men of the early ages had been governed by a re-
ligion which influenced their minds in proportion to its
rudeness. This religion had made their law, and had
given them their political institutions. But finally so-
ciety was transformed. The patriarchal rule which
this hereditary religion had produced was dissolved,
with the lapse of time, in the rule of the city. In-
sensibly the gens was dismembered. The younger
members separated from the older, the servant from
the chief. The inferior class increased; it took arms,
and finished by vanquishing the aristocracy, and con-
quering equal rights. This change in the social state ne-
cessarily brought another in law ; for as strongly as the
Eupatrids and patricians were attached to the old fam-
ily religion, and consequently to ancient law, just so
strongly were the lower classes opposed to this religion,
which had long caused their inferiority, and to this an-
cient law, which had oppressed them. Not only did
they detest it, but they did not even understand it.
As they bad not the belief on which it was founded,
this law appeared to them to be without foundation.
CHAP. VIII. CHANGES IN PEIVATE LAW. 411
They found it unjust, and from that time it became
impossible for the law to maintain its ground.
If we place ourselves back to the time when the
plebs had increased and entered the body politic, and
compare the law of this epoch with primitive law,
grave changes appear at the first glance. The first
and most salient is, that the law has been rendered
public, and is known to all. It is no longer that sa-
cred and mysterious chant which men repeated, with
pious respect, from age to age; which priests alone
wrote, and which men of the religious families alone
could know. The law has left the rituals and the
books of the priests ; it has lost its religious mystery ;
it is a language which each one can read and speak.
Something still more important is manifest in these
codes. The nature of the law and its foundation are
no longer the same as in the preceding period. For-
merly the law was a religious decision; it passed for a
revelation made by the gods to the ancestors, to the
divine founder, to the sacred kings, to the magistrate-
priests. In the new code, on the contrary, the legisla-
tor no longer speaks in the name of the gods. The
decemvirs of Rome receive their powers from the peo-
ple. The people also invested Solon with the right to
make laws. The legislator, therefore, no longer repre-
sents religious tradition, but the popular will. The
principle of the law, henceforth, is the interest of men,
and its foundation, the consent of the greatest num-
ber.
Two consequences flow from this fact. The first is,
that the law is no longer presented as an immutable
and undisputable formula. As it becomes a human
work, it is ackowledged to be subject to change. The
Twelve Tables say, « What the votes of the people have
412 THE EBVOLUTIONS. BOOK IV.
ordained in the last instance is the law." ' Of «11 the
passages of this code that remain to us, there is not
one more important than this, or one which belter
marks the character of the revolution that had then
taken place in the law. The law was no longer a sa-
cred tradition — mos ; it was simply a text — kx; and
as the will of men had made it, the same will could
change it.
The other consequence is this: The law, which be-
fore had been a part of religion, and was consequently
the patrimony of the sacred families, was now trie com-
mon property of all the citizens. The plebeian could
plead in the courts. At most, the Roman patrician,
more tenacious or more cunning than the Eupatrid of
Athens, atternpted to conceal the legal procedure from
the multitude; but even these forms were not long in
being revealed.
Thus the law was changed in its nature. From that
time it could no longer contain the same provisions
as in the preceding period. So long as i-eligion had
controlled it, it had regulated the relations of men to
each other according to the principles of this religion.
But the inferior class, who brought other principles
into the city, understood nothing either of the old
rules of the right of property, or of the ancient right of
succession, or of the absolute authority of the father, or
of the relationship of agnation, and wished to do aw?y
with all that.
This transformation of the law, it is true, could not.
be accomplished at once. If it is sometimes possible
for man quickly to change his political institutions, he
cannot change his legislation and his private law ex-
' tivy, VII. 17; IX. 33, 34.
OBAP. VIII. CHANGES IBT PEIVATE LAW. 413
cept slowly and by degi-ees. The history of Roman
law, as Well as that of Atheniati law, pi'oves this.
The Twelve Tables, as we have seen above, were
written in the midst of social changes ; patricians made
them, bflt they were made upon the demand of the
plebs, and for theh- use. This legislation, therefore, is
no longer the primitive law of Rome ; neither is it
jiretorian law ; it is a transition between the two.
Here, then, are the points in which it does not yet
deviate from the antique law : it maintains the power
of the father; it allows him to pass judgment upon his
son, to condemn him to death, or to sellhim. While
the father lives, the son never reaches his majority.
As to tlie law of Buccession, this also follows the an-
cient rules : the inheritance passes to the agnates, and
in default of agnates, to the genMles. As to the cog-
nates, that is to say, those related through females, the
law does not yet recognize them. They do not inherit
from each other ; the mother does not Bueteed to the
son, nor the son to the mother.' •
Emancipation and adoption preserve the character
and efiects which these acts had in antique law. The
emancipated son no longer takes part in the worship
of his family, and, as a consequence, he loses the right
of Succession.
The following points are those on which this legisla-
tion deviates from piimitive law : —
It formally admits that the patrimony may be
divided among the brothers, since it grants the actio
familicB erciacundce*
It declares that the father cannot sell his son more
» Gains, III. 17, 24. Ulpian, XVI. 4. Cicero, De Imiint.,
II. 60. * Gaius, III. 19.
414 THE REVOLUTIONS. BOOK IV.
than three times, and that after the third sale, the son
shall be free.' This is the first blow struck by Roman
law at the paternal autliority.
Another change still more important was that which
gave a man the right to transmit his property by will.
Before this period the son was a self-successor and a
necessary : in default of sons, the nearest agnate in-
herited ; in default of agnates, the property returned
to the gens, a tr.nce of the time when the gens, still
undivided, was sole proprietor of the domain, which
afterwards had been divided. The Twelve Tables
threw aside those old principles ; they treated property
as belonging, not to the gens, but to the individual ;
they therefore recognized in man the right of disposi^'g
of his property by will.
Still the will was not entirely unknown in primitive
law. Even then a man might choose a legatee outside
the gens, but on the condition that his choice should
be ratified by the assembly of the curies; so that noth-
ing less than the entire city could change the order
which religion had formerly established. The new
legislation freed the will from this vexatious rule, and
gave it a more convenient form — that of a pretended
sale. The man feigned to sell his property to the one
whom he had chosen as heir; in reality, he made a
will ; in this case be had no need of appearing before
the assembly of the people.
This form of will had the great advantage of being
permitted to the plebeians. He who had nothing in
common with the curies, had, up to that time, found
no means of making a will.' But now be could employ
» Digest, X. tit. 2, 1.
• There was, indeed, tlie testament in procinctu, but we aro
CHAP. VIII. CHANGES IN PEIVATB LAW. 415
the process of a pretended sale, and dispose of his prop-
erty. The most remarkable fact in this period of the
history of Roman legislation is, that by the introduc-
tion of certain new forms, the law extended its action
and its benefits to the inferior orders. Ancient rules
and formalities had only been applicable and wf ro atill
applied only to religious families; but new rules ind
new methods of procedure were prepared which were
applicable to the plebeians.
For the same reason, and in' consequence of the same
needs, innovations were introduced into that part of
the law which related to marriage. It is clear that the
plebeian families did not contract the sacred marriage,
and that for them the conjugal union rested only upon
the mutual agreement of the parties (muftms con-
sensus), and on the affection which they had promised
each other (affectio maritalis). No formality, religious
or civil, took place. This plebeian marriage finally
prevailed in custom and in law ; but in the beginning
the laws of the patrician city did not recognize it as at
all binding. This fact had important consequences;
as the marital and paternal authority in the eyes of the
patricians flowed only from the religious ceremony
which had initiated the wife into the worship of the
husband, it followed that the plebeian had not this
power. The law recognized no family as his, and for
him private law did not exist. This was a situation
that could not last. A formality was therefore devised
for the use of the plebeians, which, in civil affairs, had
the same effect as the sacred marriage. They had
recourse, as in case of the will, to a fictitious sale.
not well informed as to this sort of will ; perliaps it was to the
testament calaiis comiiiis what the assembly by centuries was to
the assembly by curies.
41 6 THE EE VOLUTIONS. BOOK IV.
The wife was bought by the husband — coemptio / from
that time she was recognized in law as a pai-t of his
property — familia. She was in his hands, and ranked
as his daughter, absolutely as if the religious ceremony
had been performed.'
We cannot affii'm that this proceeding was not older
tlian the Twelve Tables. It ia at least certain that the
new legislation recognized it as legitimate. It thus
gave the plebeian a private law, which was analogous
in its effects to the law of the patricians^ though it
differed widely in principle. ZFsus con-esponds to
coemptio j these are two forras of the same act. Evei'y
object may be acquired in either of two ways — by
purchase or by use ; the same is the case with the
fictitious property in the wife. Use here was one
year's cohabitation ; it established between husband
and wife the same legal ties as purchase or the reli-
gious ceremony. It is hardly necessary to add that
the cohabitation was to be preceded by marriage, at
least by the plebeian marriage, which was contracted
by the consent and affection of the parties. Neither
the coemptio nor the usus created a moral union be-
tween husband and wife. They came after marriage —
merely established a legal right. These were not, as
has been too often repeated, modes of nlairiage ; they
were only means of acquiring the maritkl and paternal
power.'
But the marital authority of ancient times had con-
sequences, which, at the epoch of history to which we
have arrived, began to appear excessive. We have
' Gains, I. 114.
" Gaius, I. Ill; qua anno continuo vnPTX perseverabat. So
little was the coemptio a mode of marriage that a wife might
contract it with another besides her husband — with a guardian,
tor example.
CHAP. VIII. CHANGES IN PRIVATE LAW. 417
seen that the wife was subjected without reserve to the
husband, and that the power of the latter went so far
that he could alienate or sell her.' In another point of
view the power of the husband also produced effects
which the good sense of, the plebeian could hardly
comprehend. Thus the woman placed in the hands of
her husband was separated absolutely from her pater-
nal family. She inherited none of its property, and
had no tie of relationship with it in the eyes of the
lav.'. This was very well in primitive law, when reli-
gion forbade the same person to belong to two gentes,
or to sacrifice at two hearths, or inherit from two
houses. But the power of the husband was no longer
conceived to be so great, and there were several excel-
lent motives for wishing to escape these hard conse-
quences. The code of the Twelve Tables, while
providing that a year's cohabitation should put the
wife in the husband's power, was compelled to leave
him the liberty of contracting a union less binding.
If each year the wife interrupted the cohabitation by
an absence of no more than three nights, it was suffi-
cient to prevent the husband's poweT from being estab-
lished. Thus the wife pTeserved a legal conneotioil
with her own family, and could inherit from it.
Without entering into further details, we see that
the code of the Twelve Tables already departed con-
siderably from primitive law. Roman legislation was
transformed with the govern meat and the social state.
• Gaius, I. 117, 118. That this mancipation was merely
fictitious in Gaius's time, is beyond doubt; but it was, perhaps,
real in tlie beginning. The case was not the same, moreover,
with the marriage by simple eonsensvs as with the sacred mar-
riage, which established between husband and wife an indissolu-
ble bond.
27
41 S THE DEVOLUTIONS. BOOK IV.
Little by little, and in almost every generation, some
new change took place. As the lower classes pro-
gressed in political order, new modifications were
introduced into the rules of law. First, marriage was
permitted between patrician and plebeian. Next, it
was the Papirian law which forbade the debtor to
l)ledge his person to the creditor. The procedure be-
came simplified, greatly to the advantage of the plebe.
ian, by the abolition of the actions of the law. Finally,
the pretor, continuing to advance in the road which
the Twelve Tables liad opened, traced out, by the side
of the ancient law, an entirely new system, which re-
ligion did not dictate, and which approached contin-
ually nearer to the law of nature.
An analogous revolution appears in Athenian law.
We know that two codes were prepared at Athens,
with an interval of thirty years between them ; the
first by Draco, the second by Solon.
The code of Draco was written when the struggle
of the two classes was at its height, and before the
Eupatrids were vanquished. Solon prepared his at the
moment when the inferior class gained the upper hand.
The difi^erence between these codes, therefore, is
great.
Draco was a Enpatrid ; he had all the sentiments of
his caste, and was " learned in the religious law." He
appears to have done no more than to reduce the old
customs to writing without in any way changing them.
His first law is this : " Men should honor the gods and
heroes of the country, and ofier them annual sacrifices,
without deviating from the rites followed by our ances-
tors." Memorials of his laws concerning murder have
been preserved. They prescribe that the guilty one
shall be kept out of the temple, and forbid him to
CHAP. VIII. CHANGES IN PEITATB LAW. 419
touch the histral water, or the vessels used in the
ceremonies.'
His laws appeared cruel to succeeding generations.
They were, indeed, dictated by an implacable reli-
gion, which saw in every fault an offence against the
divinity, and in every offence against the divinity an
unpardonable crime. Theft was punished with death,
because theft was an attempt against the religion of
property.
A curious article of this legislation which has been
preserved shows in what spirit it was made.'' It grants
the right of prosecution for a murder only to the rela-
tives of the dead and the members of his gens. We
see by this how powerful the gens still was at that
period, since it did not permit the city to interfere in
its affairs, even to avenge it. A man still belonged to
the family more than to the city.
In all that has come down to us of this legislation
we see that it does no more than reproduce the ancient
law. It had the severity and inflexible character of
the old unwritten law. We can easily believe that it
established a very broad distinction between the
classes ; for the inferior class always detested it, and at
the end of thirty years demanded a new code.
The code of Solon is entirely different ; we can see
that it corresponded to a great social revolution. The
first peculiarity that we remark in it is, that the laws
are the same for all. They establish no distinction be-
tween the Eupatrids, the simple free men, and the
Thetes. These names are not even found in any of the
articles that have been preserved. Solon boasts in his
' Aulus Gellius, XI. 18. Demosthenea, in Ltpt., 158. Por-
phyry, De AbstinenUa, IX.
^ Demosthenes, in Everg., 71 ; in Macart,, 67.
420 THE EBVOLUTIONSi BOOK IV.
verses of having written the same laws for the great
and the small.
Like the Twelve Tables, the code of Solon departed
in many points fi-om the ancient law; on other points
he remained faithful to it. This is not to say that the
Roman decemvirs copied the laws of Athens, but the
two codes, works of the same period and consequences
of the same social revolution, could not but resemble
each other. Still, this resemblance is little more than
in the spirit of the two codes ; a comparison of their
articles presents numerous differences. There are points
on which the code of Solon remains nearer to primitive
law than the Twelve Tables, as there are others on
which he departs more widely fi-om it.
The very early laws had prescribed that the eldest son
alone should inherit. The code of Solon changed this,
and prescribed in formal terms that the brothers should
share the patrimony. But the legislator did not depart
from primitive law enough to give the sister a part in
the inheritance. "The division," he says, "shall be
among the sons." '
Further, if a father left only a daughter, this daugh-
ter could not inherit ; the property fell to the nearest
agnate. In this Solon conformed to the old law ; but
he succeeded in giving the daughter the enjoyment of
the patrimony by compelling the heir to marry her.°
Relationship through women was unknown in the
primitive law. Solon admitted it in the new code, but
placed it below the relationship through males. Here
is his law :" " If a father leaves only a daughter, the
nearest agnate inherits by marrying the daughter. If
> Isseus, VI. 26. * Isseus, III. 42.
» Isseus, VII. 19; XI. U 11.
CHAP. VIII. CHANGES IN PKIVATB LAW. 421
he leaves no children, liis brothei* inherits, and not his
sister, — his brother by the same father, and not his
uterine brother. In default of brothers and the sons
of brothers, the succession falls to the sister. If there
are neither brothers, nor sisters, nor nephews, the cous-
ins and the children of cousins inhierit. If no cousins
are found in the paternal branch (that is to say, among
the agnates), the succession is conferred on the collater-
als of the maternal branch (the cognates)." Thus
women began to enjoy rights of inheritance, but
rights inferior to those of men. The law formally de-
clared this principle : " Mak's and the descendants
through males exclude women and the descendants of
women." But this sort of i-elationship was recognized
and took its i)lace in the laws — a certain proof that
natural right began to speak almost as loud as the an-
cient religion.
Solon also introduced into Athenian legislation some-
thing entirely new — the will. Before hira property
passed necessarily to the nearest agnate, or, in default
of agnates, to the gennetes {gentiles) ; this was because
goods were considered as belonging, not to the indi-
vidual, but to the family. But in Solon's time men be-
gan to take another view of the right of property. The
dissolution of the old ysco; had made every domain the
property of an individual. The legislator therefore
permitted them to dispose of their fortunes, and to
choose their legatees. Still, while suppressing the
rights which the yipog had over each of its members, he
did not suppress the rights of the natural family, ■ — the
son remained the necessary heir. If the deceased left
only a daughter, he qould choose his heir only on con-
dition that this heir should marry the daughter. A
422 THE EEVOLUTIONS. BOOK IV..
man without children was free to will his property ac-
cording to his fancy.'
This last rule was absolutely new in Athenian legis-
lation, and we can see by this how many new ideas
concerning the family sprang up at that time.
The primitive religion had given the father sovereign
authority in his own house. The ancient law of Athens
went so far as to permit a father to sell his son, or to
put him to death.' Solon, conforming to new manners,
limited this power.' It is certainly known that he for-
bade a father to sell his daughter, and it is probable
that the same injunction protected the son. The pa-
ternal authority went on diminishing as the ancient
religion lost its power, — an event which happened
earlier at Athens than at Rome. The Athenian law,
therefore, was not satisfied to say, like the Twelve Ta-
bles, " After a triple sale, the son shall be free." It
permitted the son, on reaching a certain age, to escape
from the paternal power. Custom, if not the laws,
insensibly came to establish the. majority of the son
during the lifetime of his father. There was an Athe-
nian law which enjoined the son to support his father
when old or infirm. Such a law necessarily indicates
that the son might own property, and consequently
that he was freed from parental authority. This law
did not exist at Rome, because the son never possessed
anything, and always remained a minor.
As for females, the law of Solon still conformed to
the earlier law, when it forbade her to make a will be-
cause a woman was never a real proprietor, and could
have only the usufruct. But it deviated from the an-
• Isseus, III. 41, 68, 73 ; VI. 9 ; X. 9, 13. Plutarch, Solon, 21.
* Plutarch, &olon, 13. ' Plutarch, Solon, 23.
CHAP. IX. NEW PEINCIPLES OP GOVEENMENT. 423
cient code when it permitted women to claim their
dower.'
There were still other innovations in this code. In
opposition to Draco, who permitted only the family of
the victim to prosecute one for a crime, Solon granted
this right to every citizen.' Here was one more old pa
triarchal right abolished.
Thus at Athens, as at Rome, law began to undergo,
a change. For the new social state a new code spraiig
up. Beliefs, manners, and institutions having been
modified, laws which had before appeared just and wise
ceased to appear so, and by slow degrees were abolished.
CHAPTER IX.
New FriucipleB of Government. The Public Interest and
the Suf&age.
The revolution which overthrew the rule of the sacei*-
dotal class, and raised the lower class to a level with
the ancient chiefs of gentes, marked a new period in
the history of cities. A sort of social reconstruction
was accomplished. It was not simply replacing one
chiss of men in power by another. Old principles had
been thrust aside, and new rules adopted that were to
govern human societies. The new city, it is true, pre-
served the exterior forms of the preceding period. Tiie
republican system remained; almost everywhere the
' Isaeus, VII. 24, 25. Dion Chrysostomus, Ilsgl aniaxia;.
Harpooration, Jli^a fuSlfivov, Demosthenes, in Evergum ; in
Bceotum de dote ; in Nearam, 51, 62.
« Plutarch, Solon, 18.
424 THE EEVOLUTIOKS. BOOK IV.
magistrates preserved their ancient names. Athens
still had its archons, and Rome its consuls. "Nor was
anything changed in the ceremonies of the public re-
ligion ; the repasts of the prytaneum, the sacrifices at
the opening of the public assembly, the auspices and
the pr.ayers, — all were preserved. It is quite common
with man, when he rejects old institutions, to wish to
preserve their exterior forms.
In reality all was changed. Neither institutions, nor
laws, nor beliefs, nor manners were in this new period
what they had been in the preceding. The old system
disappeared, cariying with it the rigorous rules which
it had established in all things; a new order of things
was established, and human life changed its aspect.
During long ages religion had been the sole princi-
ple of governmtut. Another principle had to be found
capable of I'eplacing it, and which, like it, might gov-
ern human institutions, and keep them as much as pos-
sible clear of fluctuations and conflicts. The principle
upon which the governments of cities were founded
thenceforth was public interest.
We must observe this new dogma which then made
its appearance in the minds of .men and in history.
Heretofore the supeiior rule whence social order was
derived was not interest, but religion. The duty of
performing the rites of worship had been the social
bond. From this religious necessity were derived, for
some the right to command, for others the obligation to
obey. From this had come the rules of justice and of
legal procedure, those of public deliberations and those
of war. Cities did not ask if the institutions which they
adopted were useful; these institutions were adopted
because religion had wished it thus. Neither interest
nor convenience had contributed to establish them.
CHAP. IX. NEW PRINCIPLES OP GOVERNMENT. 425
And if the sacerdotal class had tried to defend tlieni, it
was not in the name of the public interest; it was in
the name of religious tradition. But in the period
which we now enter, tradition no longer holds empire,
and religion no longer governs. The regulating prin-
ciple from which all institutions now derive their au-
thority— the only one which is above individual willsj
and which obliges tbem all to submit — is public inter-
est. What the Latins call res puhlica, the Greeks
T(') xoivAf, replaces the old religion. This is what, from
this time, establishes institutions and laws, and by this
all the important acts of cities are judged. In the de-
liberations of senates, or of popnlar assemblies, when a
law is discussed, or a form of government, or a question
of private right, or a political institution, no one any
longer asks what religion prescribes, but what the gen-
eral interest demands.
A saying is attributed to Solon which well charac-
terizes this new regime. Some one asked him if he
had given his country the best constitution. " No," he
replied, "but the one which is the best suited to it." Now
it was something quite new to expect in forms of gov-
ernment, and in laws, only a relative merit. The an-
cient constitutions, founded upon the rules of a worship,
were proclaimed infallible and immutable. They pos-
sessed the rigor and inflexibility of the religion. Solon
indicated by this answer that, in future, political con-
stitutions should conform to the wants, the manners,
and the interests of the men of each age. There was
no longer a question of absolute truth; the rules of
government were for the future to be flexible and va-
riable. It is said that Solon wished at the most that
his laws might be observed for a hundred years.
The precepts of public interest ai'e not bo absolute*
426 THE REVOLUTIONS. BOOK IV.
SO clear, so manifest, as are those of religion. We may
always discuss them ; they are not perceived at once.
The way that appeared the simplest and surest to know
■what the public inierest demanded was to assemble the
citizens, and consult them. This course was thought
to be necessary, and was almost daily employed. In
the preceding period the auspices had borne the chief
weight of the deliberations ; the opinion of the priest,
of the king, of the sacred magistrate was all-powerful.
Men voted little, and then rather as a ibi-mality than
to express an opinion. After that time they voted on
every question; the opinion of all was needed in order
to know what was for the interest of all. The suffrage
.became the great means of government. It was the
source of institutions and the rule of right; it decided
what was useful and even what was just. It was
above the magistrates and above the laws; it was sov-
ereign in the city.
The nature of government was also changed. Its
essential function was no longer the regular perform-
ance of religious ceremonies. It was especially consti-
tuted to maintain order and peace within and dignity
and power without. What had before been of secon-
dary importance was now of the fiist. Politics took
precedence of religion, and the government of men be-
came a human affair. It consequently happened either
that new offices were created, or, .at any rate, that old
ones assumed a new character. We can see this by
the example of Athens, and by that of Rome. At
Athens, during the domination of the aristocracy, the
archons had been especially priests. The care of de-
ciding causes, of administering the law, and of making
war was of minor importance, and might, without in-
convenience, be joined to the priesthood. When the
CHAP. IX. ITEW PEINCIPLEB OT GOVBENMENT. 427
Athenians rejected the old religious form of goTeni-
ment, they did not suppress the archonship, for they
had an extreme repugnance to abolishing what was
ancient. But by the side of the archons they elected
other magistrates, who, by the nature of their duties,
corresponded better with the wants of the age. These
were the strategi. The word signifies chief of the
army, but the authority of these officers was not purely
military; they had the care of the relations with other
cities, of the finances, and of whatever concerned the
police of the city. We may say that the archons had
in their hands the state religion and all that related to
it, and that the strategi had the political power. The
archons preserved the authority such as the ancient
ages had conceived it; the strategi had what new
wants had cawsed to be established. Pinally a time
came when the archons had only the semblance of
power, and the stategi had all the reality. These new
magistrates were no longer priests; they hardly per-
formed the ceremonies that were indispensable in time
of war. The government tended more and more to
free itself from religion. The strategi might be chosen
outside the Eupatrids. In tlie examination which they
had to undergo before they were appointed (doxifiualu^,
they were not asked, as the archons were, if they had a
domestic worship, and if they were of a pure family ;
it was sufficient if thej' had always performed their du-
ties as citizens, and held real property in Attica.' The •
ai'chons were designated by lot, — that is to say, by the
voice of the gods ; it was otherwise with the strategi.
As the government became more difficult and more
eomplieated, as piety was no longer the principal qual-
> Oeinarchus, I. 171 (coU. Didot).
428 THE EEVOLUTIONS. BOOK IT.
ity, and as skill, prudence, couvage, and the art of com-
manding became necessary, men no longer believed the
choice by lot was suflScient to make a good magistrate.
The city uo longer desired to be bound by the pre-
tended will of the gods, and claimed to have a free
choice of its chiefs. That the archon, who was a priest,
should be designated by the gods, was natural; but
the strategus, who held in his hands the material in-
terests of the city, was better elected by the citizens.
If we closely observe the institutions of Rome, we
see that changes of the same kind were going on there.
On the one hand, the tribunes of the people so aug-
mented their importance that the direction of the re-
public— at least, whatever related to internal affairs —
finally belonged to them. Now, those tribunes who
had no priestly character bore a great resemblance to
the Btrategi. On the other hand, the consulship itself
could subsist only by changing its character. What-
ever was sacerdotal in it was by degrees effaced. The
respect of the Romans for the traditions and forms of
the past required, it is true, that the consul should con-
tinue to perform the ceremonies instituted by their
ancestors ; but we can easily understand that, the day
when plebeians became consuls, these ceremonies were
no longer anything more than vain formalities. The
consulship was less and less a priesthood, and more and
more a command. This transformation was slow, in-
■ sensible, unpercei^ed, but it was not the less complete.
The consulship was certainly not, in the time of the
Scipios, what it had been in Publicola's day. The
military tribuneship, which the senate instituted in
443, and about which the ancients give us very little
information, was perhaps the transition between the
consulship of the first period and that of the second.
CHAP. IX. NEW PRINCIPLES OF GOVEENMBNT. 429
We may also remark that there was a change in the
manner of nominating the consuls. Indeed, in the first
ages, the vote of the centuries in the election of the
magistrates was, as we have seen, a mere formality.
In reality, the consul of each year was created by the
consul of the preceding year, who transmitted the au-
spices to him after having obtained the assent of the
gods. The centuries voted on the two or three candi-
dates presented, by the consul in office; there was no
debate. The people might detest a candidate; but
they were none the less compelled to vote for him. In
the period at which we have now arrived, the election
is quite different, although the forms are still the same.
There is still, as formerly, a religious ceremony and a
vote ; but the religions ceremony is the formality, and
the vote is the reality. The candidate is still presented
by the consul who presides ; but the consul is obliged',
if not by law, at least by custom, to accept all candi-
dates, and to declare that the auspices are equally
favorable to all. Thus the centuries name those whom
they honor. The election no longer belongs to the
gods ; it is in the hands of the people. The gods and
the auspices are no longer consulted, except on the con-
dition that they will be impartial towards all the caudi-
d!]tes. Men make the choice.
430 -THE BEVOLUTIONS. BOOK IV.
CHAPTER X.
An Aristocracy of Wealth attempts to establish itsel£
Establishment of Democracy. Fourth Sevolution.
The government which succeeded to the rnle of the
religions aristocracy was not at first a democracy. We
liave seen, from the example of Athens and Rome, that
the revolution which took place was not the work of
the lowest classes. There were, indeed, some cities
where these classes rose first ; but they could found
nothing durable. The protracted disorders into which
Syracuse, Miletus, and Samos fell are a proof of this.
The new governments were not established with any so-
lidity, except where a class was at once found to take in
hand, for a time, the power and moral authority which
the Eupatrids and the patricians had lost. What could
this new aristocracy be ? The hereditary religion be-
ing thrown aside, there was no longer any other social
distinction than wealth. Men demanded, therefore,
that wealth should establish rank ; for they could not
admit at once that equality should be absolute.
Thus Solon did not think best to do away with
the ancient distinction founded on hereditary religion,
except by establishing a new division, which should be
founded on riches. He divided the citizens into four
ramks, and gave them unequal rights ; none but the
rich could hold the highest oflices ; none below the two
intermediate classes could belong to the senate, or sit
in the tribunals.'
' Plutarch, Solon, 18; Aristides, 13. Aristotle, cited by
HarpocratioUj at the words 'InTiti;, 0ijres. Pollux, VIII. 129.
CHAP. X. ESTABLISHMENT OF DEMOCEACT. 431
The case ■was the same at Rome, We have seen
that Servius destroyed the power of the patricians only
by founding a rival aristocracy. He created twelve
centuries of knights, chosen from the richest plebeians.
This was the origin of the equestrian order, which was
from that time the rich order at Rome. The plebeians
who did not possess the sum required for a knight were
divided into five classes, according to the amount of
their fortunes. The poorest people were left out of
all the classes. They had no political rights ; if they
figured in the comitia by centuries, it is certain that
they did not vote.' The republican constitution pre-
served these distinctions, established by a king, and the
plebeians did not at first appear very desirous of estab-
lishing equality among themselves.
What is seen so clearly at Athens and at Rome
appears in almost all the other cities. At Cumse, for
example, political rights were given at first only to
those who, owning horses, formed a sort of equestrian
order; later, those who ranked next below them in
wealth obtained the same rights, and this last measure
raised the number of citizens only to one thousand.
At Rhegium the government was for along time in the
hands of a thousand of the wealthiest men of the city.
At Thurii, a large fortune was necessary to enable one
to make a part of the body politic. We see clearly iu
the poetry of Theognis that at Megara, after the fall of
the nobles, the wealthy took their places. At Thebes,
in order to enjoy the rights of a citizen, one could be
neither an artisan nor a merchant,'
Thus the political rights which, in the preceding
' Liv7, 1. 43.
» Aristotle, Polities, III. 3, 4; VI. 4, 5 (edit. Didot).
432 THE EEVOLUTIONS. BOOK IV.
epoch, belonged to birth, were, during some timcj en-
joyed by fortune alone. This aristctaracy of wealth
was established in all the cities, not by any calculation,
but by the very nature of the human mind, which,
escaping from a regime of great inequality, could not
arrive at once at complete equality.
We have to remark that these new nobles did not
found their superiority simply upon wealth. Every-
where their ambition was to become the military class.
They undertook to defend the city at the same time
that they governed it. They reserved for themselves
the best arms and the greater part of the perils in bat-
tle, desiring to imitate in this the nobility which they
had replaced. In all the cities the wealthiest men
formed the cavalry, the well-to-do class composed the
body of hoplites, or legionaries. The poor were ex-
cluded from the army, or at most they were employed
as skirmishers or light-armed soldiers, or among the
rowers of the fleet.' Thus the organization of the army
corresponded with perfect exactitude to the political
organization of the city. The dangers were propor-
tioned to the privileges, and the material strength was
found in the same hands as the wealth.'
' Lycias, in Alcib., I. 8 ; II. 7. Isaeus, "VII. 39. Xenophon,
ITellen., VII. 4. Harpocration, ©ijrts.
' The relation between military service and political rights is
manifest : at Rome the centuriate assembly was no other tbap
the army. So true is this, that men who had passed the age for
military service no longer had the right to vote in these coniitia.
Historians do not tell us that there was a similar law at Athens ;
but there are figures that are significant. Thucydidcs says
(II. 31, 13) that at the beginning of the war, Athens had thirteen
thousand hoplites ; if to these we add the knights, numbered by
Aristophanes (in the Wasps) at about a thousand, we arrive at
the number of fourteen thousand soldiers. Now, Plutarch tells
CHAP. X. ESTABLISHMENT OF DEMOCEACT. 433
There was thus, in almost all the cities whose history
is known to us, a period during which the rich claiss, or
at any rate the well-to-do class, was in possession of
the government. This political system had its merits,
as every system may have, when it conforms to the
manners of the epoch, and the religious ideas are not
opposed to it. The sacerdotal nobility of the preceding
period had assuredly rendered great services. They
were the first to establish laws and found regular gov-
ernments. They had enabled human societies to live,
daring several centuries, with calmness and dignity.
The aristocracy .of wealth had another merit ; it im-
pressed upon society and the minds of men a new
impulse. Having sprung from labor in all its forms,
it' honored and stimulated the laborer. This new gov-
el-nment gave the most political i-mportajiee to, the most
laborious, the most active, or the most skilful man;
it was, thei-efore, favorable to industry and commerce.
It was also favorable to intellectual progress; for the
acquisition of this wealth, which was gained or lost,
ordinarily, according to each one's merit, made instruc-
tion the first need, and intelligence the most powerful
spring of human aflfairs. We are not, therefore, sui-prised
that under this government Greece and Rome enlarged
tlie limits of their intellectual culture, and advanced
their civilization.
The rich class did not hold the empire so long as the
ancient hereditary nobility had held it. Their title to
dominion was not of the same value. They had not
the sacred character with which the ancient Eupatrid
US, that at the Banie date there were fourteen thousand citizens.
The proletariat, therefore, who could not serve among the
hoplites, were not counted among the citizens. 'The Athenian
constitution, then, in 480 was npt yet completely democratic.
28
434 THE KEVOI.tTTIOlTS. BOOK IV.
was clothed. They did not rule by virtue of a belief
and by the will of the gods. They had no quality that
had power over consciences, that compelled men to
submit. Man is little inclined to bow, except before
what he believes to be right, or before what his notions
teach him is far above him. He had long been made
to bend before the religious superiority of the Eupatrid,
who repeated the prayers and possessed the gods. But
wealth did not overawe him. In presence of wealth,
the most ordinary sentiment is not respect; it is envy.
The political inequality that resulted from the difference
of fortunes soon appeared to be an iniquity, and men
strove to abolish it.
Besides, the seiies of revolutions, once commenced,
could not be arrested. The old principles were over-
turned, and there were no longer either traditions or
fixed rules. There was a general sense of the insta-
bility of affairs, which ])revented any constitution from
enduring for any great length of time. The new aris-
tocracy was attacked, as the old had been ; the poor
wished to be citizens, and in their turn began to make
efforts to enter the body politic.
It is impossible to enter into the details of this new
struggle. The history of cities, as it gets farther from
their origin, becomes more and more diversified. They
follow the same series of revolutions ; but these revolu-
tions appear under a great variety of forms. We can,
at any rate, make this remark — that in the cities where
the principal element of wealth was the possession of
the soil, the rich class was longer respected, and held
its dominion longer ; and that, on the contrary, in cities
like Athens, where there were few landed estates, and
where men became rich especially by industry, man-
ufactures, and commerce, the instability of fortunes
CHAP. X. ESTABLISHMENT OF DEMOCEACT. 435
sooner awakened the cupidity or hopes of the lower
orders, and the aristocracy was sooner attacked.
The rich class of Rome offered a much stronger re-
sistance than that of Greece ; this was due to causes
which we shall state presently. But when we read
Grecian history, we are somewhat surprised that the
new nobles defended themselves so feebly. True, they
could not, like the Eupatrids, oppose to their adversa-
ries the great and powerful argument of tradition and
piety. They could not call to their aid their ancestor
and the gods. They had no point of support in their
own religious notions; nor had they any faith in the
justice of their privileges.
They had, indeed, superiority in arras ; but this su-
periority finally failed them. The constitutions which
the states adopted would have lasted longer, no doubt,
if each state could have remained isolated, or, at least,
if it could have lived in peace. But war deranges the
machinery of constitutions, and hastens changes. Now,
between these cities of Greece and Italy war was al-
most perpetual. Military service weighed most heavily
upon the rich class, as this class occupied the front rank
in battle. Often, at the close of a campaign, they re-
turned to the city decimated and weakened, and con-
sequently not prepared to make head against the popu-
lar party. At Tarentum, for example, the higher class
having lost the greater part of its members in a war
against the lapygians, a democratic government was
at once established in the city. The course of events
was the same at Argos, some thirty years before ; at
the close of an unsuccessful war . against the Spartans,
the number of real citizens had become so small that
it was found necessary to grant the rights of citizens to
436 THE EEVOLUTIOHS. BOOK IV.
a multitude of JPerioeeV It was to aToid falling into
this extremity that Sparta was so sparing of the
blood of the real Spartans. As to Rome, its revolu-
tions are explainedj in a great measure, by its con-
tinual wars. Fii'St, war destroyed its patricians ; of
the three hundred families which this caste comprised
under the kings, there remained hardly a third pai-t,
after the conquest of Samnium. War afterwards har-
vested the primitive plebeians, those rich and coura-
geous plebeians who filled the five classes and formed
the legions.
One of the effects of war was that the cities were
almost always brought to the strait of putting arras
into the hands of the lower orders. It was in this
way that at Athens, and in all the maritime cities, the
need of a navy and the battles upon the water gave
the poor class that importance which the constitution
refused them. The Thetes, raised to the rank of row-
ers, of sailors, and even of soldiers, and holding in their
hands the safety of their country, felt their importance,
and took courage. Such was the origin of the Athe-
nian democracy. Sparta was afraid of war. We
can see in Thucydides how slow she was, and how
nnwilling, to commence a campaign. She allowed her-
self to be dragged, in spite of herself, into the Pelopon-
nesian war; but how many eflforts she made to with-
draw ! This was because she was forced to arm her
■i-nafielovsg, her Neodamodes, her Mothaces, her La-
conians, and even her Helots; she well knew that every
war, by giving arms to the classes that she was op-
pressing, threatened her with revolution, and that she
would be compelled,' on disbanding the army, either to
' Aristotle, Politics, VIII. 2, 8 (V. 2).
CHAP. X. ESTABLISHMENT OF DBMOCEACT. 437
submit to the law of her Helots or to find means to
have them massacred without disturbance. The ple-
beians calumniated the Roman senate when they re-
proached it with always seeking new wars. The sen-
ate was too wise for that. It knew how many conces-
sions and checks in the forum- its wars cost. But it
could not avoid them.
It is therefore beyond a doubt that war slowly les-
sened the distance which the aristocracy of wealth had
placed between itself and the lower orders. Thus it
soon happened that constitutions were found to be at
disaccord with the social state, aiid required modifica-
tion. Besides, it must have been seen that all privi-
leges were necessarily in contradiction to the principle
which then govei'ned men. The public interest was
not a principle that could long authorize an inequality
among them. It inevitably conducted societies to a
democracy.
So true is this, that a little sooner, or a little later, it
was necessary to give all free men political ri^ts. As
soon as the Roman plebeians wished to hold comitia of
their own, they were constrained to admit the lowest
class, and could not hold to the division into classes.
Most of the cities thus saw real popular assemblies
formed and universal suffrage established.
Now, the right of suffrage had at that time a value
iiicomparably greater than it can have in modern states.
By means of it the last of the citizens had a hand in
all affairs, elected magistrates, made laws, decided
cases, declared for war or pisace, and prepared ti-eaties
of alliance. This extension of the right of snffrage,
therefore, made the government really democratic.
We must make a last remark. The ruling class
would perhaps have avoided the advent of democracy
438 THE EEVOLUTIONS. BOOK IT
if they had been able to found what Thucydides calls
bUyaqxia lodvojiog, — that is to say, the government for
a few, and liberty for all. But the Greeks had not a
clear idea of liberty; individual liberty never had any
guarantee among them. We leam from Thucydides,
who certainly is not suspected of too much zeal for dem-
ocratic government, that under the rule of tlie oligarchy
the people were subjected to many vexatious, arbitrary
condemnations, and violent executions. We read in
this historian "that democi'atic government was needed
to give the poor a refuge and the rich a check." The
Greeks never knew how to reconcile civil with politi-
cal equality. That the poor might be protected in
their personal interests, it seemed necessary to them
that they should have the right of suffrage, that they
should be judges in the tribunal, and that they might
be elected as magistrates. If we also call to mind that
among the Greeks the state was an absolute power,
and that no individual right was of any value against
it, we can understand what an immense interest evei-y
man had, even the most humble, in possessing political
rights, — that is to say, in making a part of the govern-
ment; the collective sovereign being so omnipotent
that a man could be nothing unless he was a part of
this sovereign. His security and his dignity depended
upon this. He wished to possess political rights, not
in order to enjoy true liberty, but to have at least what
might take its place.
CHAP. XI. EULES OF DEMOCRATIC GOVEEIfMENT. 489
CHAPTER XI.
Eules of Democratic Government. Examples of Athe-
uiau Democracy.
As the revolutions followed their course, and men
departed from the ancient system, to govern them be-
came more difficult. More minute rules, more ma-
chinery, and that more delicate, became necessary.
This we can see from the example of the Athenian
government.
Athens had a great number of magistrates. In the
first place she had preserved all those of the preceding
epoch — the archon, who gave his name to the year
and watched • over the perpetuation of the domestic
worship ; the king, who performed the sacrifices ; the
polemarch, who figured as chief of the army, and
decided the causes of foreigners ; the six thesmothetae,
who appeared to pass judgment, but who, in reality,
merely presided over juries : there were also the ten
iegdnoioi, who consulted the oracles and offered cer-
tain sacrifices ; the nagiidnni, who accompanied the
arclion and the king in the ceremonies ; the ten ath-
lothetse, who remained four years in office . to prepare
the festival of Bacchus; and, finally, the prytanes, who,
to the number of fifty, were continually occupied to
attend to keeping up the public fire and the sacred re-
pasts. We see from this that Athens remained faith-
ful to tlie traditions of ancient times. So many revo-
lutions had not yet completely destroyed this supersti-
tious respect. No one dared to break with the old
forms of the national religion ; the democracy contin-
ued the worship instituted by the Eupatrids.
440 THE REVOLUTIONS* BOOK XV.
Afterwards came the magistrates specially created
for the democracy, who were not priests, and who
watched over the material interests of the city. First
were the strategi, who attended to affairs of war and
politics; then followed the ten astynomi, who had
charge of the police; the ten agoranomi, who watched
over the markets of the city and of the Piraeeus ; the
fifteen sitophylaces, who superintended the sales of
grain ; the fifteen metronomi, who controlled weights
and measures ; ten guards of the treasury ; the ten re-
ceivers of the accounts ; the eleven who were charged
with the execution of sentences; In addition to this, the
greater part of these magistracies were repeated in each
tribe and in each deme. The smallest group of people
in Attica had its archon, its priest, its secretary, its re-
ceiver, its military chief. One could hardly take a
step in the city or in the country withotit meeting an
otRcial.
These ofl3ces were annual ; so that there was hardly
a man who might not hope to fill some one of them in
his turn. The magistrate-priests were chosen by lot.
The magistrates who attended^ only to public order
were elected by the people. Still there was a precau-
tion against the caprices of the lot, as well as against
that of universal sufifrage. Every newly elected official
was subjected to an examination, either before the sen-
ate, or before the magistrates going out of otRce, or,
lastly, before the Areopagus — not that they demanded
proofs of capacity or talent, but an inquiry was made
concerning the probity of the man, and concerning his
family ; every magistrate was also required to have a
property in real estate.
It would seem that these magistrates, elected by the
suffrages of their eqnnlsy named for only a single year,
cWaT. XI. RULES OF DEMOCKATIC GOVERNMENT. 441
responsible and even removable, could have had little
prestige and authority. We need only read Thueydi-
des and Xenophon, however, to assure ourselves that
they were respected and obeyed. There was always
in the character of the ancients, even in that of the
Athenians, a great facility in submitting to discipline.
It was perhaps a consequence of the habits of obedi-
ence with which the religious government had inspired
them. They were accustomed to respect the state, and
all those who, in any degree,- represented it. They
never thought of despising' a magistrate because they
had elected him ; suffrage was reputed one of the most
sacred sources of authority.
Above the magistrates, who had no other duty than
that of seeing to the execution of the laws, there was
the senate. It was merely a deliberative body, a sort
of council of state ; it passed no acts, made no laws,
exercised no soyereignty. Men saw no inconvenience
in renewing it every year, for neither superior intelli-
gence nor great experience was required of its mem-
bers. It was composed of fifty prytanes from each
tribe, who performed the sacred duties in turn, and
deliberated all the year upon the religious and political
interests of the city. It was probably because the
senate was only the assembly of the pvy taues, — that
is to say, of the annual priests of the saoi-ed fii-e, — that
it was filled by lot. It is but just to say, that after the
lot had decided, each name was examined, and any
one was thrown out who did not appear sufficiently
honorable.'
Above even the senate there was the assembly of
the people. This was the real sovei-eign. But, jast
» JBscbines, III. 2 ; Anclocide8> II. X9 ; I. 45-66.
442 THB EEV0LDTI0N8. BOOK. IV.
as in a well-constituted monarchy, the monarch is sur-
rounded with safeguards against his own caprices and
errors, this democracy also had invariable rules, to
which it submitted.
The assembly was convoked by-the prytanes or the
strategi. It. was holden in an enclosure consecrated
by religion ; since morning the priests had walked
around the Pnyx, immolating victims and calling down
the protection of the gods. The people were seated
on stone benches. Upon a soi't of platform were the
prytanes, and in front of them the proedri, who pre-
sided over the assembly. An altar stood near the
speaker's stand, and the stand itself was reckoned a
sort of altar. When all were seated, a priest (xijgul)
proclaimed, " Keep silence, religious silence (Bi<prjuiu) ;
pray the gods and goddesses [here he named the prin-
cipal divinities of the country] that all may pass most
prosperously in the assembly for the greatest advan-
tage of Athens and the happiness of its citizens."
Then the people, or some one in their name, replied,
"We invoke the gods that they may protect the city.
May the advice of the wisest prevail. Cursed be he
who shall give us bad counsel, who shall attempt to
change the decrees and the law, or who shall reveal
our secrets to the enemy." '
Then the herald, by order of the presidents, declared
the subjects with which the assembly was to occupy
itself. A question, before being presented to the peo-
ple, was discussed and studied by the senate. The
people had not what is called, in modern language, the
' ^schines, I. 23 ; III. 4. Deinarchus, II. 14. Demosthe-
nes, in Aristocr., 97. Aristophanes, Acharn., 43, 44, and Scho-
liast, Thismoph., 295-810.
CHAP. XI. EULES OF DEMOCRATIC GOVEENMBNT. 443
initiative. The senate offered a draught of a decree (the
bill) ; the people could reject or adopt it, but could not
deliberate on any other question.
When the herald had read the proposed law, the
discussion was opened. The herald said, "Who
wishes to speak?" The orators ascended the speak-
er's stand according to age. Any man could speak,
without distinction of fortune or profession, but on the
condition that he had proved that he enjoyed political
rights, that he was not a debtor to the state, that his
habits of life were correct, that he was lawfully mar-
ried, that he was a land-owner in Attica, that he had
fulfilled all his duties towards his parents, that he had
taken part in all the military expeditions to which he
had been assigned, and that he had never thrown his
shield away in any battle.'
These precautions against eloquence once taken, the
people gave themselves entirely up to it. The Athe-
nians, as Thucydides says, did not believe that words
could damage actions. On the contrary, they felt the
need of being enlightened. Politics were no longer,
as under the preceding government, an affair of tradi-
tion and faith. Men reflected and weighed reasons.
Discussion was necessary, for every question was more
or less obscure, and discussion alone could bring the
truth to light. The Athenian people desired to have,
every question presented in all its different phases, and
to have both sides clearly shown. They made great
account of their oratoi's, and, it is said, paid them in
money for every discourse delivered to the people."
' .Slschines, I. 27-33. Deinarchus, I. 71.
' At least this is what Aristophanes gives us to understand.
Wasps, 711 (689). See the Scholiast.
444 THB EBVOLUTIONS. BOOK IV
They did even better; tbey listened to them. For we
are not to picture to ourselves a noisy and turbulent
multitude; the attitude of the people was quite the
contraiy. The comic poet represents them motionless
upon their stone seats, listening open-mouthed.' His-
torians and orators frequently describe these popular
assemblies. "We rarely see an oiator interrupted ;
whether it was Pericles or Gleon, ^schines or Demos-
thenes, the people were attentive ; whether the oratora
flattered them or upbraided them, they listened. They
allowed the most opposite opinions to be expressed,
with a patience that was sometimes admirable. There
were never cries or shouts. The orator, whatever he
might say, could always reach the end of his discourse.
At Sparta eloquence was little known. The princi-
ples of government were not the same. The aristoc-
racy still governed and had fixed traditions, vchich
saved the trouble of a long discussion upon every
question. At Athens the people desired to be in-
formed. They could decide only after a contradictory
debate ; they acted only after they had been convinced,
or thought they had been. To put universal suffrage
in operation, discussion is necessary; eloquence is the
spring of democratic government. The orators, there^
fore, soon received the title of demagogues, — that is
to say, of conductors of the city; and indeed they did
direct its action, and determined all its resolutions.
The case where an orator should make a proposition
contrary to existing laws had been anticipated: Athens
had special magistrates called guardians of the laws.
Seven in number, they ■watched over the assembly, oc-
cupying high seats, and seemed to represent the law,
Aristoplianea, Knights, 1119.
eeiJ XI. EULES OF DEMOCBA TIC GOVERNMENT. 445
which was above even the people. If they saw that
the law was attacked, they stopped the orator in the
midst of his discourse, and ordered the immediate dis-
Bolntion of the assembly. The people separated with-
out having a right to reach a vote.'
There was a law, little applicable indeed, that pun-
ished every orator convicted of having given the people
bad advice. There was another that forbade access to
the speaker's stand to any orator who had threetimes
advised resolutions contrary to the existiag laws."
Athens knew very well that democracy could be
sustained only by respect for the laws. The care
of preparing the changes that it might be useful to
propose belonged especially to the thesraothetse. Their
propositions were presented to the senate, which had
the right to r^ect, but not to convert them into laws.
In case of approval the senate convoked the assembly,
and presented the bill of the thesmothetaB. But the
people could decide nothing at once; they put off the
discussion to another day. Meanwhile they designated
five orators, whose special mission should be to deferid
the existing laws, and. to point out the inconveniences of
the innovation proposed. On the day fixed the people
again assembled and heard, fiiist, the orators charged
with the defence of the old laws, and afterwards those
who supported the new. When ■ speeches had been
beard, the people did not decide yet. They! contented
-themselves with' naming a commission, very numerous,
but composed exclusively of men who bad held the
Oifi^ee of judge. This commission returned to the ex-
' Pollux, VIII. 94. Philoohorus, Fragm,., coll. Didot, p. 407.
• Athenaeus, X. 73. Pollux, VIII. 52. See G. Perrot, Mist.
4lu droiipuhlic d'Athines, ch^p. II.
446 THE EEVOLTTTIONS. BOOK IT.
amination of the affair, heard the orators anew, dis-
cussed, and deliberated. If the commissioners rejected
the proposed law, their decision was without appeal.
If they approved it, the people were again assembled ;
and this third time they voted, and by their votes the
bill became a law.'
Notwithstanding so much prudence, an unjust or un-
wise proposition might still be adopted ; but the new
law forever carried the name of its author, who might
afterwards be prosecuted and punished. The people,
as the real sovereign, were reputed infallible, but every
orator always remained answerable for the advice he
had given.'
Such were the rules which the democracy obeyed.
But we are not to conclude from this that they never
made mistakes. Whatever the form of government, —
monarchy, aristocracy, or democracy, — there are days
when reason governs, and others when passion rules.
No constitution ever suppressed the weaknesses and
vices of human nature. The more minute the rules,
the more difficult and full of peril they show the direc-
tion of society to be. Democracy could last only by
force of prudence.
We are astonished, too, at the amount of labor which
this democracy required of men. It was a very labori-
ous government. See how the life of an Athenian is
passed. One day he is called td the assembly of his
deme, and has to deliberate on the religious and politi-
cal interests of this little association. Another day
he must go to the assembly of his tribe ; a religious
• .ffiechines, in Ctesiph., 38. Demosthenes, in Timocr. ; in
Leptin. Andocides, I. 83.
* Thucydides, III. 43. Demosthenet, in Timocratem.
CHAP. XI. RULES OF DEMOCEATIC GOVEKNMBNT. 447
festival is to be arranged, or expenses are to be ex-
amined, or decrees passed, or chiefs and judges named.
Thi-ee times a month, regularly, he takes part in the
general assembly of the people; and he is not permit-
ted to be absent. The session is long. He does not
go simply to vote; having arrived in the morning, ho
must remain till a late hour, and listen to the orators.
He cannot vote unless he has been present from the
opening of the session, and has heard all the speeches.
For him this vote is one of the most serious affairs. At
one time political or military chiefs are to be elected,
— that is to say, those to whom his interests and his
life are to be confided for a year ; at another a tax is
to be imposed, or a law to be changed. Again, he has
to vote on the question of war, knowing well that, in
case of war, he must give his own blood or that of a
son. Individual interests are inseparably united with
those of the state. A man cannot be indifferent or in-
considerate. If he is mistaken, he knows that he shall
soon suffer for it, and that in each vote he pledges his
fortune and his life. The day when the disastrous Si-
ciKan expe<Jltion was decided upon, there was no citi-
zen who did not know that one of his own family must
make a part of it, and who was not required to give his
whole attention to weighing the advantages of such an
expedition against the dangers it presented. It was of
the greatest importance that one should see the subject
in a clear light ; for a check received by his country
was for every citizen a diminution of his personal dig-
nity, of his security, and of his wealth.
The duty of a citizen was not limited to voting.
When his turn came, he was required to act as a magis-
trate in his deme or in his tribe. Every third year *
' There were 5,000 heliasts out of 14,000 citizens ; but we may
448 THE BEVOLTTTIOKS. BOOK IV.
he was a heliast, and passed all that year in the courts
of justice, occupied in hearing cases and applying the
law. There was hardly a citizen who was not called
upon twice in his life to be a senator. Then for a year
he sat every day from morning till evening, receiving
the deijositions of magistrates, demanding their ac-
counts, replying to foreign ambassadors, drawing up
instructions for Athenian ambassadors, examining into
all affairs that were to be submitted to the people, and
preparing all the laws. -Finally, he might be a magis-
trate of the city, an archon, a strategus, or an astynome,
if the lot or suffrage designated him. It was, we see,
a heavy charge to be a citizen of a democratic state.
There was enough to occupy almost one's whole ex-
istence, and there remained veiy little time for per-
sonal affairs and domestic life. Therefisre Aristotle
says, very justly, that the man who bad to labor in
order to live could not be a citizen. Such were the
requirements of a democracy. The citizen, like the
public functionary of our day, was required to devote
himself entirely to the state. He gave it his blood in
war and his time during peace. He was not free to
iay aside public affairs in order to give more attention
to his own ; it was rather his own that he was required
to neglect in order to labor for the profit of the city.
Men passed their lives in governing themselves. De-
mocracy could not last except through the incessant
labor of all citizens. Let their zeal diminish ever so
little,: and it perished or became corrupt.
deduct from this second number 3,000 or 4,000, who might have
beea thrown out by the ioxiftaala.
CHAP. Xn. BICH AND POOE — THE TYEANTS. 449
CHAPTER XII.
Bich and Poor. Democracy Perishes. The Fopulai
Tyrants.
When a series of revolutions had produced an
equality among men, and there was no longer occasion
to fight for principles and rights, men began to make
war for interests. This new period in the history of
cities did not commence for all at the same time. In
some it closely followed the establishment of democ-
racy; in others it appeared only after several genera-
tions that had known how to govern themselves with
mo^^eration. But all the cities sooner or later passed
through these deplorable struggles.
As men departed from the ancient system, a poor
class began to grow up. Before, when every man be-
longed to a gens, and had his master, extreme poverty
was almost unknown. A man was supported by his
chief; the one to whom he owed obedience was bound
in turn to provide for his wants. But the revolutions
which had dissolved the j"^*os had also changed the
conditions of human life. The day when man was
freed from the bonds of clientship, he saw the necessi-
ties and the diflBculties of existence stand out before
him. Life had become more independent, but it was
also more laborious and subject to more accidents.
Thenceforth each one had the care of his own well-
being, his enjoyments, and his task. One became ricli
by his activity or his good fortune, while another ic-
mained poor. Inequality of wealth is inevitable in
every society which does not wish to remain in the
patriarcltar state or in that of the tribe.
29
450 THE EEVOIiUTIONS. BOOK IV.
The democracy did not suppress poverty; but, on
the contrary, rendered it more perceptible. Equality
of political rights made the inequality of conditions ap-
pear still more plainly.
As there was no authority that was above rich and
poor at the same time, and could constrain them to
keep the peace, it could have been wished that eco-
nomic principles and the conditions of labor had been
such as to compel the two classes to live on good
terms. If, foi/ example, the one had stood in need of
the other, -^ if the wealthy could not have enriched
themselves except by calling upon the poor for their
labor, and the poor could have found the means of liv-
ing by selling their laboi; to the rich, — then the ine-
quality of fortunes would have stimulated the activity
and the intelligence of man, and would not have be-
gotten corruption and civil war.
But many cities were absolutely without manufac-
tures and commerce ; they had, therefore, no means of
augmenting the apaount of public wealth in order to
give a part of it to the poor without despoiling any
one. Where there was commerce, nearly all its bene-
fits were for the rich in consequence of the high rate
of interest. If there were manufectures, tlie workmen
were slaves. We know that the rich men of Athens,
and of Rome, had in their houses weavers, cai-vers, and
armorers, all slaves. Even the liberal professions were
almost closed to the citizen. The physician, was often
a blave, who cured disea^s for the benefit of his mas-
ter; bank-,clerks, many architects, ship-builders, and
the lower state officials were slaves. Slavery was a
scourge from which free society itself sufiered. The
citizen .foundj few employments, little to do; the want
of occupation soon rend,ered hini ipdolent. As he saw
CHAP. xn. EICH ASTB POOE — THE TYRANTS, 451
only slaves at work, he defepiBed labor. Thus eco-
nomic habits^ moral dispositionsj prejudices, all com-
bined to prevent the poor man escaping from his
misery and living honestly. Wealth and poverty were
not constituted in a way to live together in peace.
The poor man had equality of rights-; but assuredly
his daily sufferings led him to think equality of for-
tunes far preferable. Nor was he long in perceiving
that the equality which he had might serve him to ac-
quire that which he had not, and that, master of the
votes, he might become master of the wealth of his
city.
He began by undertaking to live upon liis right of
voting. He asked to be paid for attending the assem-
bly, or for deciding causes in the courts. If the city
was not rich enough to afford such an expense, the
poor man had other resources. He sold his vote, and,
as the occasions far voting were frequent, he could live.
At Rome this traffic was regular, and was carried on
in broad day; at Athens it was better concealed. At
Romci where the poor man did not act as a judge, he
sold himself as a witness; at Athens, as a judge. All
this did not relieve the poor man from his misery, and
reduced him to a state of degradation.
These expedients did not suffice, and the poor man
used more energetic means. He organized regular
warfare against wealth. At first this war was dis-
guised under legal forms ; the rich were charged with
all the public expenses, loaded with taxes, made to
build triremes^ and to entertain the people with shows.
Then fines were mviltiplied, and property confiscated
for the slightest fhult. No one can tell how many
men were conderiined to exile for the simple reason
that they were rich. The fortune of the exile went
452 THE EEVOLUTIONS. BOOK IV.
into the public treasury, whence it afterwards flowed,
under the form f/f the triobolon, to be distributed
among the poor. But even all this did not suffice ; for
the number of poor continued to increase. The poor
then began to use their right of suflFrage either to de-
cree an abolition of debts, or a grand confiscation, and
a general subversion.
In earlier times they had respected the right of prop-
erty, because it was founded in a religious belief. So
long as each patrimony was attached to a worship, and
was reputed inseparable from the domestic gods of a
family, no one had thought of claiming the right to de-
spoil a man of his field ; but at the time to which the
revolutions have conducted us, these old beliefs are
abandoned, and the religion of property has disappeared.
Wealth is no longer a sacred and inviolable domain.
It no longer appears as a gift of tlie gods, but as a gift
of chance. A desire springs up to lay hold of it by de-
spoiling the possessor, and this desire, which formerly
would have seemed an impiety, begins to appear right.
Men no longer saw the superior principle that conse-
crates the right of property. Each felt only his own
wants, and measured his rights by them.
We have already seen that the city, especially among
the Greeks, had unlimited power, that liberty was un-
known, and that individual rights were nothing when
opposed to the will of the state. It followed that a
majority of votes might decree the confiscation of the
property of the rich, and that the Greeks saw neither
illegality nor injustice in this. What the state had
declared was right. This absence of individual liberty
was for Greece a cause of misfortunes and disorders.
Rome, which had a little more respect for the rights of
man, sufiered less.
OHAP. XII. ETCH AND POOE — THE TYKANTS. 453
At Megaia, as Plutarch relates, after an insurrection,
it was decreed that debts should be abolished, and that
the creditors, besides the loss of their capital, should be
held to reimburse the interest already paid.'
"At Megara, as in otlier cities," says Aristotle," "the
popular party, having got the power into their hands,
began by confiscating the j)roperty of a few rich fami-
lies. But, once on this road, it was iilipossible to stop.
A new victim was necessary, every day ; and, finally,
the number of the rich who were despoiled or exiled
became so great that they formed an army."
In 412, "the people of Samos put to death two hun-
dred of their adversaries, exiled four hundred more, and
divided up the lands and houses."'
At Syracuse, hardly were the people freed from the
tyranny of Dionysius, when they decreed the partition
of the lands.''
In this period of Greek history, whenever we see a
civil war, the rich are on one side, and the poor are on
the other. The poor are trying to gain possession of ■
the wealth, and the rich are ti-ying to retain or to
recover it. " In every civil war," says a Greek hietor
rian, " the gi-eat object is to change fortunes." ' Every
demagogue acted like that Molpagoras of Cios," who
delivered to the multitude those who possessed money,
massacred some, exiled others, and distributed their
property among the poor. At Messene, as soon as the
popular party gained the upper hand, they exiled the
rich, and distributed their lands.
The upper classes among the ancients never had in-
' Plutarch, Greeic Quest., 18.
» Aristotle, Politics, VIII. 4 (V. 4).
Thuoydides, VII. 21. ■* Plutarch, Dion., 37, 48.
Polybius, XV. fit. » Polybius, VII. 10.
454 THE EEVOLUTIONS. BOOK. IV.
telligeuce or ability enough to direct the poor towards
labor, and thua help them to escape honorably from
their misery and corruption. A few benevolent men
attempted it, but they did not succeed. The result
was, that the cities always floated between two revolu-
tions, one to despoil the nch, the other to enable them
to recover their fortunes. This lasted from the Pelo-
ponnesian war to the conquest of Greece by the
Komans.
In every city the rich and the poor were two ene-
mies living by the side of each other, the one coveting
wealth, and the other seeing their wealth coveted. 'No
relation, no service, no labor united them. The poor
could acquire wealth only by despoiling the rich. The
lich could defend their property only by extreme skill
or by force. They regarded each other with the eyes
of hate. There was a double conspiracy in every city ;
the poor conspired from cupidity, the rich fiom feai-.
Aristotle says the rich took the following o.nth among
themselves: "I swear always to remain the enemy
of the people, and to do them aU the injury in my
power." '
It is impossible to say which of the two parties com-
mitted the most cruelties and crimes. Hati-ed effaced
in their hearts every sentiment of humanity. " There
was at Miletus a war between the rich and the poor.
At first the latter were successful, and drove the rich
from the city ; but afterwards, regretting that they had
not been able to slaughter them, they took their chil-
dren, collected them into some threshing-floors, and had
them trodden to death under the feet of oxen. The
• Aristotle, PoUiics, VIII. 7, 19 (V. 7). Plutarch, Zysan-
der, 19.
CBAP. XII. EICH AND POOR — THE TYRANTS. 455
rich afterwards I'etuvned to the citj', and became mas-
ters of it. They took, in theii- turn, the children of the
poor, covered them with pitch, and burnt them .ihve.'
What, then, became of the deTnoci'aicy? They were
not precisely responsible for these excesses and crimes ;
still they were the first to be affected by them. There
were no longer any governing rules; now, th« de-
mocracy could live only under the strictest and best
obsen'ed rales. We no longer see any goverrirfient,
but merely factions in power. The magistrate no longer
exercised his imthwrity for the benefit of peace and
law, but for the interests and greed of a party. A
command no longer had a legitimate title or a sacred
character; there was no longer anything voluntary in
obedience ; always forced, it was always waning for an
Oi)portunity to take its revenge. The city was now,
as Plato saidi only an assemblage of men, where one
' Heracleides of Pontus, in Athenseus, XII. 26. It is quite tlie
fashion to accuse the Athenian dofflocraoy of liaving set Greece
the example in these excesses and disorders. Alliens was, on
the contrary, the only Greek city, kiiowli to us, that did not see
this atrocious war between rich atid poor within its walls. Tliis
in.eiligent and *ise people saw, from the day when this series
of revolutions commenced, that they were ihoving towards a
goal where labor alone could save society. They tjierefore en-
couraged it and rendered it honorable. Solon directed that all
men who had not an occupation should be deprived of political
rights. Periicle's desired that no slave should Li'bor in the
eonsteuction of the great monuments which he raised, and re-
served all this labor for free men. Moreover, property was so
divided up, that a census, taken at the end of the fifth century,
shows little Attica to have contained more than ten tliousand
proprietors. Besides, Athens, living under a somewhat better
fetononiical riegi'me than the otber cities enjoyed, was less vio-
lently agitated than the nest Ctf Greece'; the quarrels between rich
and poor were b^aer, and did not end in the same disorders.
456 THE EEVOIiUTIONS. BOOK IT.
party was master and the other enslaved. The govera-
ment was called aristocratic when the rich were in
power, democratic when the poor ruled. In reality,
true democracy no longer existed.
From the day when it was mastered by material in-
terests, it was changed and corrupted. Democracy, with
the rich in power, had become a violent oligarchy ; the
democracy of the poor had become a tyranny. From
the fifth to the second century before our era, we see
in all the cities of Greece and of Italy, Rome still ex-
cepted, that the republican forms are imperilled, and
that they liave become odious to one party. Now, we
can clearly see who wish to destroy it, and who desire
its preservation. The rich, more enlightened and more
haughty, remain faithful to republican government,
while the poor, for whom political rights have less val-
ue, are ready to adopt a tyrant as their chief. When
this poor class, after several civil wars, saw that victories
giiined them nothing, that the opposite party always
returned to power, and that, after many interchanges
of confiscations and restitutions^ the straggle always
recommenced, they dreamed of establishing a monarch-
ical government which should conform to their inter-
ests, and which, by forever suppressing the opposite
party, should assure them, for the future, the fruits of
their \ictory. And so they set up tyrants. From
that moment the parties changed names; they were
no longer aristocracy or democracy; they fought for
liberty or for tyranny. Under these two names wealth
and poverty were still at war. Liberty signified the
government where the rich had the rule, and defended
their fortunes ; tyranny indicated exactly the contrary.
It is a general fact, and almost without exception in
the history of Greece and of Italy, that the tyrants
CHAP. XII. EICH AND POOK — THE TTBANTS. 457
sprang from the popular party, and had the aristocracy
as enemies. " The mission of the tyrant," says Aris-
totle, " is to protect the people against the rich ; he has
always commenced by being a demagogue, and it is the
essence of tyranny to oppose the aristocracy." " The
means of arriving at a tyranny," he also says, " is to
gain the confidence of the multitude ; and one does
this by declaring himself the enemy of the rich. This
was the course of Peisistratus at Athens, of Theiigeaes
at Megara, and of Dionysius at Syracuse." '
The tyi-aht always made war upon the Mch. At
Megara, Theagenes surprises the herds of tne rich in
the country and slaughters them. At Cumse, Avisto-
demus abolishes debts, and takes the lands of the rich
to give them to the poor. This was the couiv^e of
Nicocles at Sicyon, and of Aristomachos at Argos. All
these tyrants writers represent as very cruel. It is
not probable that they were all so by nature ; but they
were urged by the pressing necessity, in which they
found themselves, of giving lands or money to the poor.
They could maintain their power only while they sat-
isfied the cravings of the multitude, and administered
to their passions.
The tyrant of the Greek cities was a personage of
whom nothing in our day can give us an idea. He was
a man who lived in the midst of his subjects, without
intermediate ofiicers and without ministers, and who
dealt with them directly. He was not in that lofty and
independent position which the sovereign of a great
state occupies. He had all the little passions of the
private man ; he was not insensible to the profit* of
a confiscation ; he was accessible to anger and to the
' Aristotle, PoUties, V. 8} VIII. 4, 5; V. i.
458 THE EBVOLUTIOirS. BOOK IT.
desire of personal revenge; he -was disturbed hy fear;
he knew that lie had enemies all about him, and that
public opinion approved assassination, when it wns a
tyrant that was struck down. We can imaguie what
the government of such a man must have been. With
two or three honorable exceptions, the tyrants who
were set up in all the Greek cities in the fourth and
third centuries reigned only by flattering all that was
worst in the multitude, and by destroying all that
was superior in birth, wealth, or merit. Tlieir power
was unlimited. The Greeks could see how easily a
republican government, when it did not profess a great
respect for individual rights, was changed into a des-
potism. The ancients had conferred such powei-s upon
the state that, the day when a tyrant took this om-
nipotence in band, men no longer had any security
against him, and he was legally the master of their
lives and their fortunes.
CHAPTER XIII.
Sevdlutions of Sparta,
We are not to believe that Sparta remained ten cen-
turies without seeing a revolution- Thucydides teUs us,
on the contrary, "that it was torn by dissensions more
than any other Greek city." ' The history of these in-
ternal dissensions, it is true, is little known to us; but
this is due to the fact that the government of Sparta
made a rule and a custom of surrounding itself with
the most profound mystery." The greater part of the
• Thaeydides, 1. 18. » Thucydides, V. 68.
CHAP. Xni. EETOLUTIONS OF SPAETA. 459
Bt^'uggles that took place there have been concealed
and forgotten; but we kiiow enough of them, at least,
to .saj', that if the history of Sparta difievs materially
from that of other cities,, it has none the less passed
through the same series of revolutions.
The Dorians were already united into a people when
they overran Peloponnesus. What had caused tbera
to leave their country? Was it the invaaoa of a for-
eign nation? or was it an internal revolujtion? We
4o not know. But it appears certain that, at this stage
in the life of the Dorians, the old rule of the gens had
already disappeared. We no longer distinguish among
them this anoient organization of the family; we no
longer find traces of the patriarchal government, or
vestiges of the religious nobility, or of hereditary client-
ship ; we see only wariaors, all equal, under a king. It
is probable, therefore, that a first social revolution had
already taken place, either in Doris or on the road
which oonduoted. this people to Sparta. If we com-
pare Dorian society of the ninth century with Ionian
society of the same epoch, we perceive that the former
was much farther advanced than the other in the, series
of changes. The Ionian race entered later upon the
revolutionai-y road, but passed over it quicker.
Though the Dorians, on their arrival at Sparta, no
longer had the government of the gens, they had not
been able so completely to free themeelves from it as not
to retain some of its institutions, — as, for example, the
right of primogeniture and the inalienability of the pat-
rimony. These institutions could not fail to establish
an aiistocracy in Spartan society.
All the traditions show us that, at the time when
Lycurgus appeared, there were two classes among the
Spaitans, and that they were hostile t^ each other.
460 THE EE VOLUTIONS. BOOK IV.
Royalty had a natural tendency to take part with the
lower class. Lycurgus, who was not king, became the
chief of the aristocracy, and at the same blow weak-
ened royalty, and brought the people under the yoke.
The declamations of a few of the ancients, and of
many of the moderns, on the wisdom of Spartan in-
stitutions, on the unchangeable good fortune which the
Spartans enjoyed, on their equality, and on their living
in common, ought not to blind us. Of all the cities
that ever were upon the earth, Sparta is perhaps the
one where the aristocracy reigned the most oppressive-
ly, and where equality was the least known. It is use-
less to talk of the division of the land. If that divisioR
ever took place, it is at least quite certain that it wa&
not kept up ; for, in Aristotle's time, " some possessed
immense domains; others had nothing, or almost noth-
ing. One could reckon hardly a thousand proprietors
in all Laconia." '
If we leave out the Helots and the Laconians, and
examine only Spartan society, we shall find a hierarchy
of classes superposed one above the other. First, there
are the Neodamodes, who appear to be former slaves
freed ; " then come the Epeunactse, who had been ad-
mitted to fill up the gaps made by war among the
Spartans ; ' in a rank a little above figured the Motha-
ces, who, very similar to domestic clients, lived with
their masters, composed their cortege, shared their oc-
cupations, their labors, and their festivals, and fought
by their side;* then came the class of bastards, who,
though descended from true Spartans, were separated
' Aristotle, Politics, II. 6, 10 and 11.
' Myron of Priene, in Athenaeas, VI.
' Tlieopompus, in Athenseus, VI.
* Athenseus, VI. 102. Plutarch, Oleomenes.S. .ffilian, XII , 43.
CHAP. XIII. EEV0LUTI0N8 OF SPAETA. 461
from them by religion and law.' There was still an-
other class, called the inferiors, tno/ielovfg^ who were
probably the younger, disinherited sons of families.
Finally, above all these was raised the aristocratic
class, composed of the men called the Equals — o.uotoi.
These men were indeed equal among themselves, but
were much superior to all the rest. The number of
this class is not known ; we know only that it was very
small. One day one of their enemies counted them in
the public square, and found some sixty of them in the
midst of a multitude of four thousand people.' These
Equals alone had a part in the government of the city.
" To be outside this class," says Xenophon, " is to be
outside the body politic." ■* Demosthenes says that a
man who entered the class of Equals became by that
alone "one of the masters of the government."' "They
were called Equals," he further says, "because equality
ought to reign between the members of an oligarchy."
On the composition of this body we have no precise
information. It was recruited, as it should seem, by
election ; but the right of electing belonged to the body
itself, and not to the people. To be admitted to it
was what they called j in the oflScial language of Sparta,
the reward of virtue. We do not know how much
wealth, rank, merit, and age were required to compose
this virtue. It is evident that birth was not sufficient,
since there was an election. We may suppose that it
was rather wealth which determined the choice in a city
' Aristotle, Politics, VIII. 6 (V. 6). Xenophon, Bellmicat
y. 3, 9.
* Xenophon, Biellenica, III. 8, 6.
' Xenophon, ffellenica, III. 3, 5.
* Xenophon, Gov. of Laced., 10.
* Demosthenes, in Leptin., 107.
462 THE EEVOLUTIDSrS. BOOK IT.
" which bad the love of money in the highest degree,
and where everything was permitted to wealth." '
However this may be, these Equals alone had the
rights of citizens ; they alone composed the assembly;
they alone formed what was called at Sparta the people.
From this class came, by election, the senators, to
whom the constitution gave very great authority; for
Demosthenes says that the day a man entered the sen-
ate he became a despot towards the multitude.' This
senate, of which the kings were simple members, gov-
erned the state according to the habitual custom
of aristocratic bodies; annual magistrates, whose elec-
tion belonged indirectly to it, exercised in its name
an absohite authority. Thus Sparta had a republican
government ; it even had all the externals of a democ-
racy— king-priests, annual magistrates, a deliberative
senate, and an assembly of the people. But this people
was an association of some two or three hundred men.
Such was, after Lycurgus, and especially after the es-
tablishment of the ephors, the government of Sparta.
An aristocracy, composed of a few rich men, placed an
iron yoke upon the Helots, upon the Lacouians, and
even upon the greater number of the Spartans. By its
energy, ability, unscrupulousness, and disregai-d of all
moral laws, it succeeded in holding its power during
five centuries ; but it stiiTcd up cruel hatreds, and had
to suppress a great number of insurrections.
We have not spoken of the plots of the Helots. All
those of the Spartans are not known. The government
was too wise not to seek to suppress even the recollec-
' 'A ifti.ox^iinarla Sni^ar rioi; it was already a proverb in
Greece in Aristotle's time. Zenobius, II. 24. Aristotle, Pol.,
VIII. 6, 7 (V. 6J.
» Demosthenes, inLeptm., 107. Xenophon, Gov^ ofLcuxd^, 10.
CHAP. xm. EEVOXUTIONS OF -SPARTA, 463
tion of them. Still there are a few which history has
not been able to overlook. We know that the colo-
niets who founded Tarentum were Spartans who had
attempted to overthix)w the government. An indiscre-
tion of the poet Tyrt£eus revealed to all Greece that,
during the Messenian wars, a party had conspived to
obtain a division of the lands.
What saved Sparta, was the extreme division which
existed in the lower orders. The Helots did not agree
with the Laconians; and the Mclihaces despised the
Neodamodes. No coalition was possible; and the
aristocracy — thanks to its military education and the
close union of its members ! — was always strong-
enough to make head against any one class of its ene-
mies.
The kings attempted what no class could realize.
All those among them who aspired to escape from- the
state of inferiority in which the aristocracy held them
sought support among the. lower classes. Dwing the
Persian war Pausasnias formed- the project of elevating
royalty and the lower orders at the same time by over-
throwing the oligarchy. The Spartans put him to
death, accusing him of having conspired with the king
of Persia; his real crime was, rather, entertaining the
thought of freeing the Helots.' We can see in history
how numerous were the kings who were exiled by the
ephors. The cause of these condemnations is easily
guessed ; and Aiistotle says, " The kings of Sparta, in
order to make head against the ephors and the senate,
became demagogues." *
In 397 B. C. a conspii^aoy came near overthrowing
• Aristotle, Politics, VIII. 1 (V. 1). Thucydides, I. 18, 2.
" Adatptle, Politics, II. 6, 14. - ,
464 THB EBVOLUTIONS. BOOK. IV.
this oligarchic government. A certain Cinadon, who
did- not belong to the class of Equals, was the chief
of the conspirators. He would bring one whom he
wished to join in this plot to the public square, and
make him count the citizens ; by including the ephors
and the senators, they would reach the number of
about seventy. Cinadon would then say to him, "Those
men are our enemies; all the others, on the contrary,
who fill the square to the number of more than four
thousand, are our allies." He would add, "When you
meet a Spartan in the country, see in him an enemy
and a master ; all other men are friends." Helots, La-
conians, Neodamodes, i^io/itloveg, all were united this
time, and were the accomplices of Cinadon. " For ali,"
says the historian, "had such a hatred for their masters
that there was not a single one among them who did
not declare that it would be agreeable to him to eat
them raw." But the government of Sparta was ad-
mirably served ; no secret could be kept from it. The
ephors pretended that the entrails of the victims had
revealed the plot to them. No time was left for the
conspirators to act ; they were seized and secretly put
to death. The oligarchy was once more saved.'
Favored by this government, the inequality contin-
ued to increase. The Pcloponnesian war and the ex-
pedition into Asia had caused money to flow to Sparta;
but it had been distributed in a very unequal manner,
and had enriched those only who were already rich.
At the same time small properties disappeared. The
number of proprietors, who in Aristotle's time amount-
ed to a thousand, was reduced to a hundred a century
after him.' The entire soil was in a few hands at a
' Xenophon, Bellenica, 111. 8. » Plutarch, Agis, fi.
CHAP. XID REVOLITTIOXS OP SPAETA. 465
time when there wns neither manufacture nor com-
merce to furnish occupation for the poor, and when the
ricli employed slaves in cultivat'ing their immense do-
mains.
On the one hand were a few men who had every-
thing, on the other a very great number who had abso-
lutely nothing. In the life of Agis, and in that of Cle-
omenes, Plutarch presents us with a picture of Spartan
society. We there see an unbridled love of wealth ;
everything is made secondary to this. Among a few
there are luxury, effeminacy, and the desire endlessly to
augment their fortunes. Beyond those there is a mis-
erable crowd, indigent, without political rights, of no
weight in the city, envious, full of hatred, and con
demned by their condition to desire a revolution.
When the oligarchy had thus pushed affairs to the
last possible limits, revolution was inevitable, and the
democracy, so long arrested and repressed, finally broke
down the barriers. We can also easily believe that,
after ages of compression, the deraoijracy would not
stop with political changes, but would arrive with the
first bound at social reforms.
The small number of Spaitans by birth (there were,
including all the different classes, no more than seven
hundred) and the debasement of character, a result of
long oppression, explain why the signal for changes
did not come from the lower classes. It came from a
king. Agis undertook to accomplish this inevitable
revolution by leg.nl means, which increased for him the
difficulties of the entei-prise. He presented to the sen-
ate— that is to say, to the rich men themselves — two
bills for the abolition of debts and the partition of the
lands. We cannot be too much surprised that the sen-
ate did not reject these propositions. Agis had perhaps
30
466 THE REVOLUTIONS. BOOK IV.
taken bis measures to have them accepted. But the
laws, once voted, remained to be put in execution ; and
these reforms are always so difficult to carry through
that the boldest fail. Agis, stopped short by the oppo-
sition of the ephors, was constrained to go outside the
law ; he deposed those magistrates, and named others
by his sole authority. He then armed his partisans,
and established, for a year, a reign of teri'or. Duniig
that time he was enabled to apply the law concerning
debts, and to burn in the public square all evidences
of debt ; but he had not time to divide up the land.
We do not know whether Agis hesitated at this point,
frightened at his own work, or whether the oligarchy
circulated well-devised accusations against him. At
any rate the people left him, and allowed him to fall.
The ephors put him to death, and the aristocratic gov
ernment was re-established.
Cleojnenes took up the projects of Agis, but with
more skill and fewer scruples. He began by massa-
cring the ephors; he boldly suppressed this magistracy,
which was odious to the kings and to the popular par-
ty, and proscribed the rich. After these measures he
carried through the revolntion; he distributed the
lands, and gave the rights of citizens to four thousand
Laconians. It is worthy of remark that neither Aois
nor Cleomenes avowed that he was caiTying through a
revolution, and that both, claiming to act in the name
of the old legislator, Lycurgus, pretended that they
were bringing Sparta back to her ancient usages. As-
suredly the constitution of Cleomenes was vei-y far
from them. The king was really an absolute master;
there was no other authority as a counterpoise. He
reigned after the manner of the tyrants who then held
sway in most of the Greek cities, and the Spartan
se
*j&iHAP.t<3Cni. EKVOLUTIONS OP SPAETA. 467
people, satisfied to have obtained lands, appeared to
care very little for political liberty. This situation did
not continue long. Cleomenea wished to extend the
deiBOcratic rule to all Peloponnesus, where Aratus, at
the veiy same time, was laboring to establish liberty
and a welUregulated aristocracy. In all the cities, the
popular party agitated in the name of Cleomenes, hoping,
like Sparta, to obtain an abolition of debts and a dis-
tribution of lands. It was this unexpected insurrection
of the lower classes that obliged Aratua to change all
his plans. He thought he could count upon Macedo-
nia, whose ting, Antigouus Doson, was then acting
on the plan of attacking the tyrants and the popular
party everywhere, and therefore introduced him into
Peloponnesus. Antigonus and the Aohaeans conquered
Cleomenes at Sellasia. The Spartan deimocraey were
again overthrown, and the Macedonians re-established
the ancient government (B, C. 222).
But the oligarchy could no longer support itself.
Disturbances continued a long time; one year, three
epbors, who were favorable to the popular party, mas-
sacred their two colleagues ; the following year the
five ephors belonged to the oligarchs. The people took
arms and kiUed them all. The oligarchy wanted no
kings ; the people were in favor of kings ; one was
nominated and elected outside the royal family — a
thing that had never been known before at Sparta.
This king, named Lycurgus, was twice dethroned, once
by the people, because he refused to divide the lands,
and a second time by the aristocracy, because they
suspected him of wishing to make the partition. It is
not known how he closed his reign ; but after him there
was a tyrant, Maehanidas, at Sparta ^^ a certain proof
that the popular party had gained the ascendency.
468 THE EBVOLUTIONS. BOOK IV.
Philopoemen, who, at the head of the Achsean league,
made war everywhere upon democratic tyrnntfi, con-
quered and killed Machanidas. The Spartan democracy
immediately set up another tyrant, Nabis. This man
gave the rights of citizens to all freemen, raising the
Laconians themselves to the rank of Spartans. He even
freed the Helots. Following the custom of the tyrants
of the Greek cities, he became the leader of the poor
against the rich, and proscribed or put to death those
whose riches raised them above others.
This new democratic Sparta was not wanting in
grandeur. Nabis established such order in Laconia as
had not been known there for a long time. He brought
Messenia, Elis, and a part of Arcadia under Spartan
rule, and seized Argos. He formed a navy, which was
very far from the ancient traditions of the Spartan aris-
tocracy. With his fleet he commanded all the islands
that surround Peloponnesus, and extended his influ-
ence even over Crete. He everywhere raised the
democracy : master of Argos, his first care was to con-
fiscate the property of the rich, abolish debts, and dis-
tribute the lands. We can see in Polybius what a
hatred the Achaean league had for this democratic
tyrant. The league determined Flaminius to make
war upon him in the name of Rome. Ten thousand
Laconians, without counting mercenaries, took -arms to
defend Nabis. After a check, he desired to make peace ;
but the people refused : so much was the tyrant's cause
that of the democracy. Flaminius, as victor, took away
a part of his forces, but allowed him to reign in Laconia •
either because the impossibility of re-establishing the
old government was too evident, or because it was for
the interest of Rome that there should be a few tyrants,
as a counterpoise to the Achsean league. Nabis was
CUAP. XIII. EETOLUIION8 OF SPARTA. 469
afterwards assassinated by an ^oliau; but his death
did not restore the oligarchy. The changes which lie
had made in the social state were maintained .after
him, and Rome herself refused to restore Sparta to her
ancient condition.
470 MUNICIPAL RBGIMB DISAPPEAKS. BOOK V.
BOOK FIFTH.
THE MUNICIPAL REGIME DISAPPEi4.RS.
CHAPTER I.
New Beliefs. Philosophy changes the Enles of Politics.
In what precedes we have seen how the iminicipal
governments were constituted among the ancients. A
very ancient religion had at first founded the family,
and afterwards the city. At first it had established
domestic law and the government of the gens; after-
wards It had established civil laws and municipal gov-
ei'nment. The state was closely allied with religion ; it
came from religion, and was confounded with it. For
this reason, in the primitive city all political institutions
had been religious institutions, the festivals had been
ceremonies of the worahip, the laws had been sacred
formulas, and the kings and magistrates had been priests.
For this reason, too, individual liberty had been un-
known, and man had not been able to withdraw even his
conscience from the omnipotence of the city. For this
reason, also, the state remained bounded by the limits
of a city, and had never been able to pass the bounda-
ries which its national gods had originally traced for it.
Every city had not only its political independence, but
also its worship and its code. Religion, law, govern-
1HAP. I. NEW BELIEFS — PHILOSOPHY. 471
ment, all were municipal. The city was the eingle
living force ; there was nothing ^bove and nothing be
low it; neither national unity nor individual liberty.
It remains for us to relate how this system dis-
appeared,— that is to say, how, the principle of human
association being changed, government, religion, and
law threw off this municipal character which they had
borne in antiquity.
The ruin of the governments which Greece and Italy
liad created was due to two principal causes. One be
longed to the order of moral and intellectual facts, the
other to the order of material facts ; the first is the
transformation of beliefs, the second is the Roman
conquest. These two great facts belong to the same
period ; they were developed and accomplished to-
gether during the series of six centuries which preceded
our ei-a.
The primitive religion, whose symbols were the im-
movable stone of the hearth, and the ancestral tomb, —
a religion which had established the ancient family, and
had afterwards organized the city, — changed with time,
and grew old. The human mind increased in strength,
and adopted new beliefs. Men began to have an idea
of immaterial nature ; the notion of the human soul
became more definite, and almost at the same time that
of a divine intelligence sprang up in their minds.
Could they still believe in the divinities of the prim-
itive ages, of those dead men who lived in the tomb, of
those Lares who had been men, of those holy ances-
tors whom it was necessary to continue to nourish with
food ? Such a faith became im]jo8sible. Such beliefs
were no longer on a level with the human mind. It is
quite true that these prejudices, though rude, were not
easily eradicated from the vulgar mind^ They still
472 MUNICIPAL EEGIMB DISAPPBAES. BOOK. Y.
reigned there for a long time ; but from the fifth cen-
tury before our era, reflecting men freed themselves
from these errors. They had other ideas of death.
Some believed in annihilation, others in a second and
entirely spiritual existence in a world of spirits. In
these cases they no longer admitted that the dead
lived in the tomb, supporting themselves upon oflerings.
They also began to have too high an idea of the divine
to persist in believing that the dead were gods. On
the contrary, they imagined the soul gping to seek its
recompense in the Elysian Fields, or going to pay the
penalty of its crimes ; and by a notable progress, they
no longer deified any among men, except those whom
gratitude or flattery placed above humanity.
The idea of the divinity was slowly transformed by
tiie natural effect of the greater power of the mind.
This idea, which man had at first applied to the invisi-
ble force which he telt within himself, he transported
to the incomparably grander powers which he saw iii
nature, whilst lie was elevating himself to the concep-
tion of a being who was without and above nature.
Then the Lares and Heroes lost the adoration of all who
thought. As to the sacred fire, which appears to have
had no significance, except so far as it was connected
with the worship of the dead, that also lost its prestige.
Men continued to have a domestic fire in the house, to
salute it, to adore it, and to offer it libations ; but this
was now only a customary worship, which faith no
longer vivified.
The public hearth of the city, or prytaneum, was
insensibly drawn into the discredit into which the do-
mestic fire had fallen. Men no longer knew what it
signified ; they had forgotten that the ever-living fire
of the prytaneum represented the invisible life of the
CHAP. I. NEW BELIEFS — PHILOSOPHY. 473
national ancestors, founders, and heroes. They con-
tinued to keep up this fire, to have public meals, and to
sing the old hymns — va,in ceremonies, of which tliey
dared not free themselves, but the sense of which no
one understood.
Even the divinities of nature, which they had as
sociated with the sacred fire, changed their character.
After having commenced by being domestic divinities,
after having become city divinities, they were trans-
formed again. Men finally perceived that the difierent
beings whom they called by the name of Jupiter, might
be only one and the same being; and thus of other
gods. The mind was oppressed wit!; tiie multitude of
divinities, and felt the need of reducing their number.
Men undei'stood that the gods no longer belonged each
to a family or to a city, but that they all belonged to
the human race, and watched over the universe. Poets
went from city to city, and taught men, instead of the
old hymns of the city, new songs, wherein neither
Lares nor city-protecting divinities appeared, and where
the legends of the great gods of heaven and earth were
related ; and the Greek people forgot their old domestic
and national hymns for this new poetry, which was not
the daughter of religion, but of art and of a free imagi-
nation. At the same time a few great sanctuaries, like
those of Delphi and Delos, attracted men, and made
them forget their local worship. The mysteries and
the doctrines which these taught accustomed them to
disdain the empty and meaningless religion of the city.
Thus an intellectual revolution took place slowly and
obscurely. Even the priests made no opposition, for as
long as the sacrifices continued to be offered on desig-
nated days, it seemed to them that the ancient religion-
was preserved. Ideas might change, and faith perish-
474 MUNICIPAL EBGIMB D1SAPPBAE8. BOOK V.
provided the rites received no attack. It happened,
therefore, without the practices being modified, that the
beliefs were transformed, and that the domestic and
municipal religion lost all influence over the minds
of men.
Then philosophy appeared, and overthrew all the
rules of the ancient polity. It was impossible to touch
the opinions of men without also touching the funda-
mental principles of their government. Pythagoras,
having a vague conception of the Supreme Being, dis-
dained the local worshifis ; and this was sufficient to
cause him to reject the old modes of government, and
to attempt to found a new order of society.
Annxagoras comprehended the God-Intelligence
which reigns over all men and all beings. In reject-
ing ancient religious notions, he also rejected ancient
polity. As he did not believe in the gods of the pryta-
neum, he no longer fulfilled all the duties of a citizen ;
he avoided the assemblies, and would not be a magis-
trate. His doctrine was an attack upon the city ; and
the Athenians condemned him to death.
The Sophists came afterwards, and exercised more
influence than these two great minds. They were men
eager to combat old errors. In the struggle which
they entered against whatever belonged to the past,
they did not spare the institutions of the city more
than they spared religious prejudices. They boldly
examined and discussed the laws which still reigned in
the state and in the family. They went from city to
city, proclaiming new principles, teaching, not precisely
indifierence to the just and the unjust, but a new justice,
less narrow,- less exclusive than the old, more humane
more rational, and freed from the formulas of preceding
ages. This was a hardy enterprise, which stirred up a
CHAP. I. NEW BELIEFS — PHILOSOPHY. 475
tempest of hatred and rancor. They were accused of
having neither religion, nor morals, nor patriotism.
The truth is, that they had not a very well settled
doctrine, and thought they had done enough when
they had attacked old prejudices. They moved, as
Plato says, what before had been immovable. They
placed the rule of religious sentiment, and that of
politics, in the human conscience, and not in the cus-
toms of ancestors, in immutable tradition. They
taught the Greeks that to govern a state it was not
enough to appeal to old customs and sacred laws, but
that men should be persuaded and their wills should
be influenced. For the knowledge of ahcient customs
they substituted the art of reasoning and speaking —
dialectics and rhetoric. Their adversaries quoted tra-
dition to them, while theyj on the other hand, employed
eloquence and intellect.
When reflection had thus been once awakdned, man
no longer wished to believe without giving a reason
for his belief, or to be governed without discussing
his institutions. He doubted the justice of his old
eocial laws, and other principles dawned upon bis
mind. Plato . puts these remarkable words in the
mouth of a Sophist : " All you who are here, I regard
as related to each other, Nature, in default of law,
has made you citizens. But the law, that tyrant of
man, does violence to nature on many occasions."
Thus to oppose nature to law and custom was to
attack the ancient jJolitical system at its foundation.
In vain did the Athenians banish Protagoras and
burn his writings: the blow had been struck : the
result of the tdachings of the Sophists had been im-
mense. The authority of the old institutions perished
with the authority of the national gods, and the
476 MUNICIPAL KEGIMB DISAPPEAES. BOOK V.
habit of free examination became established in men's
homes and in the public squares.
Siicrates, while reproving the abuse which the
Sophists made of the right to doubt, was still of th.eir
school. Like them he rejected the empire of tradition,
and believed that the rules of conduct were graven in
the human conscience. He differed from them only
in this ; he studied conscience religiously, and with a
firm desire to find there an obligation to be just and to
do good. He ranked truth above custom, and justice
above the law. He separated morals from religion :
before hiin, men never thought of a duty except as a
command of the ancient gods. He showed that the
principle of duty is in the human mind. In all this,
whether he wished it or not, he made war upon the
city worship. In vain he took pains to be presei*'; at
all the festivals and took part in the sacrifices; his
belief and liis words contradicted his conduct. He
founded a new religion, which was the opposite of the
city religion. He was justly accused of not adoring the
gods whom the state adored. Men put him to death
for having attacked the customs and the beliefs of
their ancestors, or, as they expressed it, for having cor-
rupted the present generation. The unpopularity of
Socrates and the violent rage of the citizens are
explained if we think of the religious habits of that
Athenian society where there were so many priests,
and where they were so powerful. But the revolu-
tion which the Sophists had commenced, and which
Socrates had taken up with more moderation, was not
stopped by the death of the old man. Greek society
was enfranchised more and more, daily, from the
empire of old beliefs and old institutions.
After him philosophers freely discussed the prin-
OBAP. I. NEW BELIEFS — PHILOSOPHY. 477
ciples and rules of human association. Plato, Crito,
Antisthenes, Speusippus, Aristotle, Theophrastus, and
many ottiets wrote treatises on polities. They studied
and examined ; the great problems of the organiza-
tion of a state, of authority and obedience, of obliga-
tions and rights, were presented to all minds.
Doubtless thought could not easily free itself from
the bonds which habit had made for it. Plato still
yielded, in certain points, to the empire of old ideas.
The state which he imagines is still the ancient city :
it is small ; it must not contain more than five thou-
sand members. Its government is still regulated on
ancient principles : liberty is unknown in it ; the
object which the legislator proposes to himself is less
the perfection of man than the security and grandeur of
the association. The family, even, is almost suppressed,
that it may not come into competition with the city:
the state is the only proprietor ; it alone is free : the
state alone has a will; only the state has a religion
and a belief, and whoever does not believe with it
must perish. And yet in the midst of all this the new
ideas appear. Plato proclaims, with Socrates and the
Sophists, that the moral and political guide is in our-
selves ; that tradition is nothing, that reason must be
consulted, and that laws are just only when they con-
form to human nature.
These ideas are still more precise in Aristotle.
"The law," he says, "is reason." He teaches that we
are to seek, not what conforms to the customs of
ancestors, but what is good in itself. He adds that, as
time progresses, institutions should be modified. He
puts aside respect for ancestors. " Our first ancestors,
whether they came from the bosom of the earth, or
survived some deluge, resembled, in all probiibility,
478 MxnnciPAL ebgime disappeaes. book t.
those who to-day are the most degraded and the most
ignorant among men. It would be an evident absur-
dity to cling to the opinions of those men." Aris-
' totle, like all the philosophers, absolutely disregards
the religious origin of human society: he does not
speak of the prytaneum ; he does not admit that these
local worships were the foundation of the state. "The
state," he says, " is nothing else but an association of
equal beings seeking in common a happy and com-
fortable existence." Thus philosophy rejects the old
principles of society, and seeks a new foundation on
which it may support social laws and the idea of
country.'
The Cynic school goes farther. It denies the ties
of country itself. Diogenes boasted that he had the
rights of a citizen nowhere, and Crates said that his
country was a contempt for the opinions of others.
The Cynics added this truth, then quite new — that
man is a citizen of the univei'se, anrl that his country is
not the narrow territory of a city. They considered
municipal patriotism as a prejudice, and excluded love
of the city from the moral sentiments.
From disgust or disdain, philosophers avoided pub-
lic affairs more and more. Socrates had fiilfilled
the duties of a citizen ; and Plato had attempted to
work for the state by reforming it. Aristotle, still
more indifferent, confined himself to the part of an
observer, and made the state an object of scientific
study. The Epicureans paid no attention to public
affairs. "Do not meddle with them," said Epicurus,
"unless some higher power compels you to." The
Cynics did not wish even to be citizens.
• Aristotle, Polities, II. 6, 12; IV. 6; 7, 2; VII. 4 (VI. 4).
CHAP. I. NEW BELIEFS — PHILOSOPHY. 479
The Stoics returned to politics. Zeno, Clcanthes,
and Chryfflppus wrote numerous treatises on the
government of states. But their principles were far
removed from the old municipal politics. These are
the terms in which one of the ancients speaks of the
doctrines which their writings contained : " Zeno, in
his treatise on govertiraent, has undertaken to show us
that we are not the inhabitants of such a deme, or
such a city, separated from each other by a particular
code, or exclusive laws, but that we should see citizens
in all men, as if we all belonged to the same deme
and the same city." ' We see from this how far ideas
had advanced since the age of Socrates, who thought
himself bound to adore, as far as he was able, the
gods of the state. Even Plato did not plan any other
government than that of a city. Zeno passed beyond
these nan-ow limits of human associations. He dis-
dained the divisions which the religion of ancient
ages had established. As he believed in a God of the
universe, so he had also the idea of a State into which
the whole human race should enter."
But here is a still newer principle. Stoicism, by
enlarging human association, emancipates the indi-
vidual. As it rejects the religion of the city, it re-
jects also the servitude of the citizen. It no longer
desires that the individual man shall be sacrificed
to the state. It distinguishes and separates clearly
what ought to remain free in man, and frees at least
the conscience. It "tells man that he ought to shut
' Pseudo Plutarch, Fi^riune of Alexander. 1.
' The idea of the universal city is expressed by Seneca, ad
Marciam, i, De TranquilHtate, 14 ; by Plutarch, J}e Exsilio ; by
Marcus Aurelius : " As Antoninus, I have Borne for my country;
AS a man, the world."
#
480 MUNICIPAL EBGTME DISAPPBAES. BOOK V.
himself np within himself, to find in himself duty,
virtue, and reward. It does not forbid him to meddle
with public affairs; it even invites him to affairs of
state, still warning him, however, that his principal
labor ought to have for its object his individual im-
M provement, and that whatever the government may
be, his conscience ought to remain free, — a great prin-
ciple which the ancient city had always disregarded, but
which was destined to become one of the most sacred
rules of politics.
^ Men now begin to understand that there are other
duties besides those towards the state, other virtues
besides civic virtue. The mind is attached to other
objects besides country. The ancient city had been so
powerful and so tyrannical that man had made it the
object of all his labor and of all his virtues. It had
been his standard of the beautiful and the good, and
^ except for that there was no heroism. But now Zeno
teaches man that he has a dignity, not as a citizen, but
as a man ; that besides his obligations to the law, he
has others to himself; and that the supreme merit is
not to live or to die for the state, but to be virtuous
^ and to please the Deity. These were somewhat selfish
virtues, which left national independence and liberty to
fall; but they gave the individual more importance.
s( The public virtues went on declining, while the per-
' sonal virtues were evolved and came forth into the
world. They had at first to struggle both against the
geneial corruption and against despotism. But they
became rooted in the minds of men by degrees, and,
as time went on, became a power which every govern-
ment had to take into account; and it was of the fii-st
importance that the rules of politics should be modi-
fied, so that a free place might be made for them.
CHAP. II, THE EOMAN CONQUEST. 481
Thus were these religious notions transformed, little
by little ; the municipal religion, the basis of the city,
disappeared, and the municipal govei'nraents, such as
the ancients had conceived them, were forced to fall
with it. Insensibly men departed from those rigorous
)-ules, and from those narrow forms of government.
Higher ideas prompted men to form more extensive
societies. They were attracted towards unity; this
was the general aspiration for two centuries preceding
our era. The fruits which these revolutions of knowl-
edge bore were, it is true, very slow to mature ; but we
shall see, in studying the Roman conquest, that events
moved in the same direction with these ideas, that,
like them, they tended to the ruin of the old municipal
system, and that they prepared new modes of govern^
ment.
CHAPTER II.
The Eoman Conquest,
At first it appears very surprising that among the
thousand cities of Greece and Italy one was found car
pable of subduing all the others. Yet this great event
is due to the ordinary causes that determine the course
of human affairs. The wisdom of Rome consisted, like
all wisdom, in profiting by the favorable circumstance
that fell in its way.
We can distinguish two periods in the work of the
Roman conquest. One corresponds to the time when the
old municipal spirit was still strong; it was then that
Rome had the greatest number of obstacles to surmount.
The second belonged to the time when the municij)a]
31
482 MUNICIPAL EEGIMB DISAPPEAES. BOOK V.
spirit was much weakened ; conquest then became easy,
and was acconiplished rapidly.
1. The Origin cmd Population of Home.
The origin of Rome and the composition of its peo-
ple are worthy of remark. They explain the particu-
lar character of its policy, and the exceptional part that
fell to it from the beginning in the midst of other
cities.
The Roman race was strangely mixed. The princi-
pal element was Latin, and originally from Alba ; but
these Albans themselves, according to traditions which
no criticism authorizes us to reject, were composed of
two associated, but not confounded, populations. One
was the aboriginal race, real Latins. The other was
of foreign origin, and was said to have come from Troy
with ^neas, the priest-founder ; it was, to all appear-
ance, not numerous,, but was influential from the wor-
ship and the institutions which it had brought with it.'
These Albans, a mixture of two races, founded Rome
on a spot where another city had already been built —
Pallantium, founded by the Greeks. Now, the popu-
lation of Pallantium remained in the new city, and the
rites of the Greek worship were presei-ved there.' There
was also, where the Capitol afterwards stood, a city
which was said to have been founded by Hercules, the
families of which remained distinct from the rest of the
' The Trojan origin of Rome was a reeeived opinion even before
Borne was in regular communication with the East. A sooth-
sayer, in a prediction which related to the second Punic war,
applied to the Bomans the epithet Trojugena. Livy, XXV. 12.
» Livy, I. 6. Virgil, VIII. Ovid, Fasti, I. 679. Plutarch,
Rom. Quest., 66. Strabo, V. p. 230i
Chap. ii. the eohan conquest. 483
Roman population during the entire continaahee of the
Thus at Rome all races were associated and mingled ;
there were Latins, Trojans, and Greeks ; there were, a
little later, Sabines and Etrusealns. Of the several
hills, the Palatine was the Latin city, after having been
the city of Evander. The Capitoline, after having been
the dweiling-plac£! of the companions of Hercules, be-
came the home of the Sabines of TatiuS. The Quirinal
received its name from the Sabine Quirites, or from the
Sabine god Quirinus. The CcBlian hill appears to have
been inhabited from the beginning by Etrnscans." Rorae
did not seem to be a single city; it appeared like a
confederation of several cities, each one of which was
attached by its origin to another confederation. It
was the centre where the Latins, Etruscans, Sabelluns,
aad Greeks met.
Its first king was a Latin ; the second, a Sabine; the
fifth was, we are told, the son of a Greek; the sixth
was an Etruscan.
Its language was composed of the most diverse ele'
ments. The Latin predominated, but Sabellian roots
were numerous, and more Greek radicals were found
in it than in any other of the dialects of Central Italy.
As to its name, no one knew to what language that be-
longed. According to some, Rome was a Trojan word ;
according to others, a Greek word. There are reasons
for believing it to be Latin, but some of the ancients
thought it to be Etruscan.
The names of Roman families also attest a great di-
> Dionysius, I. 85. Varrp, L. L., V. 42. Virgil, VIII. 35».
' Of the three names of the primitive tribes, tlie ancients al-
ways believed th£t one was Latin, another Sabine, and the third
EtraBcaa.
484 MUNICIPAL EEGIME DISAPPBAES. BOOK T.
versity of origin. In the time of Augustus there wert,
still some fifty families who, by ascending the series of
their ancestors, arrived at the companions of ^neas.'
Others claimed to be descendants of the Arcadian
Evander, and from time immemorial the men of these
families wore upon their shoes, as a distinctive sign, a
small silver crescent.' The Potitian and Pinarian fam-
ilies were descended from those who were called the
companions of Hercules, and their descent was pi-oved
by the hereditary worship of that god. The TuUii,
Quinctii, and Servilii came from Alba after the con-
quest of that city. Many families joined to their name
a surname which recalled their foreign origin. There
were thus the Sulpicii Camerini, the Cominii Arunci,
the Sicinii Sabini, the Clandii Regillenses, and the
Aquillii Tusci. The Nautian family was Trojan, the
Aurelii were Sabines; the Cfficilii came from Prseneste,
and the Octavii were originally from Velitrse.
The effect of this mixing of the most diverse nations
was, that from the beginning Rome was related to all
the peoples that it knew. It could call itself Latin
with the Latins, Sabine with the Sabines, Etruscan
with the Etruscans, and Greek with the Greeks.
Its national worship was also an assemblage of sev-
eral quite different worships, each one of which at-
taclied it to one of these nations. It had the Greek
worship of Evander and Hercules, and boasted of pos-
sessing the Trojan Palladium. Its Penates were in the
Latin city of Lavinium, and it adopted from the begin-
ning the Sabine worship of the god Consus. Another
Sabine god, Quirinus, was so firmly established at
Rome that he was associated with Romulus, its founder.
' Dionysius, I. 85. • Plutarch, Rom. Quest., 76.
CHAP. n. THE SOMAN CONQUEST. 485
It had also the gods of the Etruscans, and their fes-
tivals, and their augurs, and even their sacerdotal in-
signia.
At a time when no one had the right to take part in
the religious festivals of a nation unless he belonged by
birth to that nation, the Roman had this incomparable
advantage of being able to take part in the Latin holi-
days, the Sabine festivals, the Etruscan festivals, and
the Olympic games.' Now, religion was a powerful
bond. When two cities had a single worship, they
called themselves relations ; they were required to re-
gard themselves as allies, and to aid each other. In
ancient times men knew of no other union than that
which religion established. Rome therefore preserved
with great care whatever could serve as an evidence
of this precious relationship with other nations. To
the Latins it presented its traditions of Romulus ; to
the Sabines its legend of Tarpeia and Tatiiis; to the
Greeks it quoted the old hymns which it had preserved
in honor of Evander's mother, hymns which Romans
Ao longer understood, but which they persisted in sing-
ing. They also preserved the recollection of .^neas
with the greatest care ; for if they could claim relation-
ship with the Peloponnesians through Evander,'' they
were related through .^Eneas to more than thirty cities,'
scattered through Italy, Sicily, Greece, Thrace, and
Asia Minor, all having had jEneas for a founder, or
being colonies of cities founded by him, — all having,
consequently, a common worship with Rome. We can
see in the wars which they waged in Sicily against
' Pausinias, V. 23, 24. Comp. Livy, XXIX. 12 ; XXXVII. 37.
» Pausanias, VIII. 43. Strabo, V. p. 232.
' Servius, ad ^n., III. 12.
486 MUNICIPAL EEGIMB DISAPPEARS. POOK V.
Carthage, and an Greece against Philip, what advan-
tage they derived from this ancient relationship.
The Roman population was, then, a mixture of sev-
eral races, its worship was an assemblage of several
worships, and its national hearth an association of sev-
eral hearths. It was almost the only city whose, mu-
nicipal religion was not isolated from all others. It
was related to all Italy and all Greece. There was
hardly a people that it could not admit to its hearth.
2. First Aggrandizement of Home {B. C 753-350).
During the period when the municipal religion was
everywhere powerful, it governed the policy of Rome.
We are told that the first act of the new city was to
seize some Sabine women — a legend which appears
very improbable when we refl(;ct on the sanctity of
marriage among the ancients ; but we have seen above
that the municipal religion forbade marriage between
persons of different cities unless these two cities had a
common origin or a common worship. The first Rd-
mans had the right of intermarriage with Alba, from
which they originally came, but not with their other
neighbors, the Sabines. What Romulus wished to ob-
tain first of all was not a few women ; it was the right
of intermarriage, ^ that is to say, the right of conti-act-
ing regular relations with the Sabine population. For
this purpose a religious bond must be established be-
tween them ; he therefore adopted the worship of the
Sabine god Census, and celebrated his festival.' Tra-
dition adds that during this festival he carried off the
women. If he had done this, the marriages could mjt
' Dionysius, II. SO.
CHAP. n. THB ROMAN CONQUEST. 487
have been celebrated according to the rites, since the
first and most necessaiy act of the marriage was the
traditio in manum, — that is to say, the giving away
of the daughter by the father ; Romulus would have
failed of his object. But the presence of the Sabines
and their families at the religious ceremony, and their
participation in the sacrifice, established between the
two nations a bond such that the connubium could no
longer be refused. There was no need of a seizure ;
the right of intermarriage was a natural consequence
of tlie festival. And the historian Dionysius, who con-
sulted ancient documents and hymns, assures us that
the Sabines were married according to the most solemn
rites, which is confirmed by Plutarch and Cicero. It
is worthy of remark that the result of the first effort
of the Romans was to throw down the barriers wiiich
the municipal religion had placed between two neigh-
boring nations. No similar legend relative to Etrnria
has come down to us, but it appears quite certain that
Rome had the same relations with that country as
with Latium and the Sabines. The Romans therefore
had the address to unite themselves, by worship and
by blood, with all the nations around them. They
took care to have the connubium with all the cities ;
.nnd what proves that they well understood the im-
portance of this bond is, that they would not permit
other cities, their subjects, to have it among them-
selves.'
Rome then entex-ed upon the long series of its wars.
The fii-st was against the Sabines of Tatius; it was ter-
minated by a religious and political alliance between
these two little nations. It next made war upon Alba,
» Livy, IX.43; XXIII. 4.
488 MUNICIPAL REGIME DISAPPBAES. BOOK. V.
The historians say that the Romans dared to attack
this city, though they were a colony from it. It was
precisely because they were a colony from Alba tha^
they judged it necessary to destroy that city. Indeed,
every metropolis exercised a religious supremacy over
its colonies, and religion then had so great an influence
that while Alba remained standing, Eome could be
only a dependent city, and her progress would be for-
ever an-ested.
After the destruction of Alba, Rome was no longer
content to remain a colony, but claimed to take the
rank of a metropolis, by inheriting the rights and the
religions supremacy which up to that time Alba had
exercised over the thirty colonies of Latium. The Ro-
mans sustained long wars to obtain the presidency of
the sacrifice at tlie fericB Latinae. This was a means
of acquiring tlio single kind of superiority and dominion
which was understood at that time.
' They built at home a temple to Diana; they obliged
the Latins to come and offer sacrifices there, and even
attracted the Sabines to it." By this means they habit-
uated these two nations to share with them, under their
presidency, the festivals, the prayers, and the sacred flesh
of the victims. Rome thus united them under her re-
ligious snpremacy.
Rome was the only city that understood how to
augment her population by war. The Romans pur-
sued a policy unknown to the rest of the Grseco-Italian
world ; they annexed all that they conquered. They
brought home the inhabitants of captuied cities, and
gradually made Romans of them. At the same time
they sent colonists into the conquered countries, and in
' Livy, I. 43. Dionysius, IV. 48, 49.
CHAP. II. THE EOMAK COKQUEST. 189
this manner spread Rome everywhere ; for thtr col-
onists, while forming distinct cities, in a political point
of view, preserved a religious community with the me-
tropolis; and this was enough to compel the colonies to
subordinate their policy to that of Rome, to obey her,
and to aid her in all her wars.
One of the remarkable peculiarities of the policy of
Rome was, that she attracted to her all the worships
of the neighboring cities. She obtained possession of
a Juno from Veii, a Jupiter from Prseneste, a Minerva
from Falerii, a Juno from Lanuvium, a Venus from the
Samnites, and many others that we do not know.'
" For it was the custom of the Romans," says one of
the ancients,' " to take home the religions of the con-
quered cities ; sometimes they distributed them among
the gentes, and sometimes they gave them a place in
their national religion." Montesquieu praises the Ro-
mans for a refinement of skilful policy in not having
imposed their gods upon the conquered nations. But
that would have been contrary to their ideas, and to
those of all the ancients. Rome conquered the gods
of the vanquished, and did not give them hers. She
kept her protectors for herself, and even labored to in-
crease the number. She tried to possess more worships
and more tutelary gods than any other city.
As, moreover, these worships and gods were, for the
most part, taken from the conquered, Rome was placed
by them in religious communion with all the surround-
ing nations. The ties of a common origin, the possession
of the connubium, that of the presidency of the f&rioe
LatincB, that of the vanquished gods, the right, which
' Livy, V. 21, 22; VI. 29. Ovid, Fasti, III. 837, 843 Plu-
tarch, Parallel of Greek and Roman Hist , 7S.
• Cincius, cited by Arnobius, Adv. Gentes, III. 38.
490 MCNICIPAL REGIME DISAPPEAES. BOOK V.
they pretended to have, of sacrificing at Olympia and
at Delphi, were so many means by which the Romans
prepared their dominion. Like all the cities, Rome had
her municipal religion, the source of her patriotism ;
but she was the only city which made this religion
serve for her aggrandizement. Whilst other cities were
isolated by their religion, Rome had the address or the
good fortune to employ hers to draw everything to
herself, and to dominate over all.
3. How Borne acquired Empire {B. C. 350-140).
Whilst Rome grew thus slowly by the means which
religion and the ideas of that age placed at her disposal,
a series of social and political changes was taking place
in all the cities and in Rome itself, transforming at the
same time the governments of men and their ways of
thinking. We have already traced this revolution.
What is important to remark here is, that it coincides
with the great development of the Romau power.
These two results, which took place at the same time,
were not without influence upon each other. The con-
quests of Rome would not have been so easy if the old
municipal spirit had not been everywhere extinct ; and
we may also believe that the municipal system would
not have fallen so soon if the Roman conquest had not
dealt It the final blow.
In the midst of the changes which took place in in-
stitutions, in manners, in religious ideas, and in laws,
patriotism itself had changed its nature; and this is one
of the events which contributed most to the great prog-
ress of Rome. We have described this sentiment as it
was in the first ages of the city. It was a part of re-
ligion ; men loved their country because they loved its
CHAP. n. THE EOMAN CONQUEST. 4S
protecting gods, because they there found a prytaneur
a holy fire, festivals, prayers, and hymns, and beeaus
beyond its borders tliey no longer found either gods c
a worship. This patriotism was faith and piety. Bi
when the domination had been withdrawn from th
sacerdotal caste, this sort of patriotism disappeared wit
other old religious notions. Love of the city still su
vived, but it took a new form.
Men no longer loved their country for its religio
and its gods ; they loved it only for its laws, for i1
institutions, and for the rights and security which ;
afforded its mernbers. We see in the funeral oratio
which Thucydides puts into the mouth of Pericles whs
the reasons are that Athens was loved ; they are b(
cause this city " wishes all to be equal before the law;
" because she gives men liberty, and opens the ways o
honor to all ; because she maintains public order, a
sures authority to the magistrates, protects the weal
and gives to all spectacles and festivals, which are th
education of the mind." And the orator closes by saj
ing, " This is why our warriors have died herqicall
rather than allow their country to be torn from them
this is why those who survive are all ready to suffer, an
to devote themselves for it." Man, therefore, still owe
duties to the city; but these duties do not flow froi
the same principle as before. He still gives his bloo
and his life, but it is no longer to defend his nation;
divinity and the hearth of his fathers; it is to defen
the institutions which he enjoys, and the advantage
which the city procures him.
Now, this new patriotism had not exactly the sam
effects as that of the ancient ages. As the heart ws
no longer attached to the prytaneum, to the protectin
gods, and to the sacred soil, but simply to the institv
492 MUNICIPAL REGIME DISAPPEAES. BOOK V
tions and the laws, — and as, moreover, the latter, in
the state of instability in which all the cities then found
themselves, changed frequently, — patriotism became a
variable and inconsistent sentiment, which depended
upon circumstances, and which was subject to the same
fluctuations as the government itself. One loved his
country only as much as he loved the form of govern-
ment that prevailed there for the moment ; and he
who found its laws bad had no longer anything to at-
tach him to it.
Municipal patriotism thus became weakened and died
out in men's minds. Every man's opinion was more
precious to him than his country, and the triumph of
his faction became much dearer to him than the gran-
deur or glory of his city. Each one, if he did not find
in his own city the institutions that he loved, began to
prefer some other city, where he saw these institutions
established. Men then began to emigrate more freely,
and feared exile less. What did it matter if they were
excluded from the prytaneum and the lustral water ?
They thought little now of the protecting gods, and were
easily accustomed to live away from their country.
From this to taking up arms against it was not a
great step. Men joined a hostile city to make their
party victorious in their own. Of two Ai-gives, one
preferred an aristocratic government ; he preferred
Sparta to Argos: the other preferred democracy; he
preferred Athens. Neither cared a great deal for the
independence of his own city, and was not much averse
to becoming the subject of another city, provided that
city sustained his faction in Argos. It is clear, from
Thucydides and Xenophon, that it was this disposition
of men's minds that brought on and sustained the Pelo-
ponnesian war. At Platasa the rich were of the Theban
CHAP. II. THE EOMAN CONQUEST. 493
and Lacedemonian party, the democrats were in favor
of Athens. At Coroyra the popular faction were for
Athens, and the aristocracy for Sparta.' Athens had
allies in all the cities of Peloponnesus, and Sparta had
them in all the Ionian cities. Thucydides and Xeno-
phon agree in saying that there was not a single city
where the people were not favorable to the Athenians,
and the aristocracy to the Spartans." This war rep-
resents a general eflFort which the Greeks made to
establish everywhere a single constitution with the
hegemony of a city; bat a part desired an aristocracy
under the protection of Sparta, while others favored a
democracy with the support of Athens. It was the
same in Philip's time. The aristocratic party, in all
the cities, desired the domination of Macedon. In
PhilopcEmen's time the cases were reversed, but the sen-
timents remained the same ; the popular party accepted
the empire of Macedon, and all who were in favor of
the aristocracy joined the Achaean league. Thus the
wishes and the affections of men no longer had the city
as the object. There were few Greeks who were not
ready to sacrifice municipal independence in order to
obtain the constitution which they preferred.
As to honest and scrupulous men, the perpetual
dissensions which they, saw disgusted them with the
municipal system. They could not love a form of
society, where it was necessary to fight every day,
where the rich and the poor were always at war, and
where they saw popular violence and aristocratic ven-
geance alternate without end. They wished to escape
from a regime which, after having produced real gran-
» Thucydides, 11. 2; III. 65, 70; V. 29, 7G.
' Thucydides, III. 47. Xenophon, Bell., VI. 3,
494 MUNICIPAL EEGIMB DISAPPBAKS. BOOK V.
deur, no longer produced anything but suffering and
hatred. They began to feel the necessity of abandon-
ing the municipal system, and of arriving at some other
form of government than the city. Many men dreamed
at last of establishing above the cities a sort of sover-
eign power, which should look to the maintenance of
order, and compel those turbulent little societies to live
in peace. It was thus that Phocion, a good citizen, ad-
vised his compatriots to accept the authority of Philip,
and promised them, at this price, concord and security.
In ItaJy affairs were in much the same condition as
in Greece. The cities of Latium, of the Sabines, and of
Etruria were distracted by the same revolutions and the
same struggles, and love of the city disappeared. As in
Greece, every man was ready to join a foreign city, in
order to make bis opinions and interests prevail in
his own.
These dispositions of mind made the fortune of the
Romans. They everywhere supported the aristocracy ;
everywhere, too, the aristocracy were their allies. Let
us take a few examples. The Claudian gens left the
Sabines because Homan institutions pleased them bet-
ter than those of their own country. At the same
epoch many Latin families emigrated to Rome, because
they did not like the democratic government of Latium,
and the Romans had just established the reign of the
palricians.' At Ardea, the aristocracy and the plebs
being at enmity, the plebs called the Volscians to their
aidj and the aristocracy delivered the city to the Ro-
mans.'' Etruria was full of dissensions ; Veii had over-
thrown her aristocratic government; the Romans at-
tacked this city, and the other Etruscan cities, where tho
' Didnjrsius, "VI. 2. ' iJivy, IV. 9, 10.
CHAP. n. THE ROMAN CONQtTEST. 49£
Bacei'dotal aristocracy still held sway, refused to aic
the Veientines. The legend adds that in this war thf
Romans carried away a Veientine aruspex, and mad*
him deliver them an oracle that assured them the Tic
tory. Does not this legend signify that the Etrnscat
priests delivered the city to the Romans ?
Later, when Capua revolted against Rome, it wai
remarked that the knights — that is to say, the aristo
cratic body — took no part in that insurrection.' In 313
the cities of Ausona, Sora, MinturnsB, and Yescia wen
delivered to the Romans by the aristocratic party.
When the Etruscans were seen to form a coalitioi
against Rome, it was because popular governments ha(
been established among them. A single city — that oi
AiTetium — refused to enter this coalition; and thi
was because the aristocracy still prevailed in An-etium
When Hannibal was in Italy, all the cities, were agi
tated ; but it was not a question of independence. Ii
every city the aristocracy were for Rome, and the pleb
for the Carthaginians.'
The manner in which Rome' was governed will ex
plain this constant preference which the aristocrac;
entertained for it. The series of revolutions comtinnei
as in other cities, but more slowly. In 500,, when th
Latin cities already had tyrants, a patrician reactio
had. succeeded at Rome. The democracy rose aftei
wards, buit gradually, amd with much mioderation an
self-restraint. The Roman government was, therefon
for a longer time aristoei'atic than any other, and wa
long the hope of the aristocratic party.
The democracy,, it is true,, finally carried the day i
» Livy, VIII. n. ' LiTy, IX. 24, 25; X. 1.
' Livy, XXIII. 13, 14, 39 •„ XXXV. 2, 3.
496 MUNICIPAL EEGIME DI8APPEAES. BOOK V.
Rome; but even then the proceedings, and what one
might call the artifices, of the government remained
■aristocratic. In the comitia centuriata the votes wei-e
■flistributed according to property. It was not alto-
gether diflferent with the comitia tributa : legally, no
distinction of wealth was admitted there; in fact, the
poor class, being included in the four city tribes, had
but four votes to oppose to the thirty-one of the chiss
of propi-ietors. Besides, nothing was more quiet, ordi-
narily, than these assemblies; no one spoke there, ex-
cept the president, or some one whom he called upon.
Orators were little heard there, and there was little
discussion. More generally there was simply a vote
of yes or no. and a count of the votes. This last oper-
ation, being very complicated, demanded much time
and patience. Add to this that the senate was not
renewed annually, as in the democratic cities of Greece ;
it sat for life, and very nearly recruited itself. It was
really an oligarchic body.
The manners of the Romans were still more aristo-
cratic than their institutions. The senators had seats
reserved at the theatre. The rich alone served in the
cavalry ; the grades of the army were in great part
reserved for the young men of the great families.
Scipio was not sixteen years old when he already com-
manded a squadron.
The rule of the rich class was kept up longer at
Rome than in any other city. This was due to two
causes. One was, that Rome made great conquests, and
the [irofits of these went to the class that was already
rich ; all lands taken from the conquered were possessed
by them ; they seized upon the commerce of the con-
quered countries, and joined with it the benefits derived
from the collection of duties and the administration of the
CHAP, n. THE EOMAN CONQUEST. 497
provinces. These families, thus increasing their w ealth
with every generation, became immeasurably opulent,
and each one of them was a power, compared with the
people. The other cause was, that the Roman, even
the poorest, had an innate respect for wealth. Long
after real clientship had disappeared, it was, in a certain
sense, resuscitated under the form of a homage paid to
great fortunes ; and it became a custom for the poor to
go every morning to salute the ricjh.
It does not follow from this that the straggle be-
tween rich and poor was not seen at Rome, as well as
in other cities ; but it commenced only in the time of
the Gracchi, — that is to say, after the conquest was
almost achieved. Besides, this struggle never had at
Rome that character of violence which it assumed
everywhere else. The lower orders of Rome never
ardently coveted riches. They aided the Gracchi in a
lukewarm manner; they refused to believe that these
reformers were working for them, and abandoned'them
at the decisive moment. The agrarian laws, so often
presented to the rich as a menace, always left the peo-
ple quite indifferent, and agitated them, only on the
surface. It is clear that they were not very eager to
possess lands; for, if they were offered a share in the
public lands, — that is to say, in the domain of the
state, — they at least never had a thought of despoiling
the rich of their property. Psfftly from inveterate re-
spect, and partly from a habit of doing nothing, they
loved to live by the side of the rich, and as it were in
their shadow.
The rich class had the wisdom to admit to its circle
the most considerable families of the subject and allied
cities. All who were rich in Italy came gradually to
form the rich class of Rome. This body continued to
32
498 MTTNICIPAL EEGIME DISAPPEAES. BOOK V.
increase in importance, and became the miaster of the
state. The rich alone filled the magistracies, because
these cost a great sum to purchase. They alone com-
posed the senate, because it required a very laige prop-
erty to be a senator. Thus we see this strange fact,
that, in spite of democratic laws, a nobility was formed,
and that the people, who wire all-powerful, suffered this
nobility to take rank above them, and never made any
real opijosition to it.
Rome, therefore, from the third to the second cen-
tury before our era, was the most aristocratically gov-
erned city that existed in Italy or Greece. Finally, let
js lemark that, if the senate was obliged to manage
;he multitude on home questions, it was absolute master
io far as concerned foreign affairs. It was the senate
;hat received ambassadors, that concluded alliances,
,hat distributed the provinces and the legions, that
•atified the acts of the generals, that detei-mined the
jonditions allowed to the conquered — all acts which
everywhere else, belonged to the popular assembly.
Foreigners, in their relations with Rome, had, there-
ore, nothing to do with the people. The senate alone
ipoke, and the idea was held out that the people had no
jower. This was the opinion which a Greek expressed
;o Flaminius. "In your country," said he, "riches
ilono govern, and all else is submissive to it." '
As a result of this, in all the cities the aristocracy
urned their eyes towards Rome, counted upon it,
ooked to it for protection, and followed its fortunes.
This seemed so much the more natural, as Rome was
i foreign city to nobody ; Sabines, Latins, and Etrus-
jans saw in it a Sabine, Latin, or Etruscan city, and the
Greeks recognized Greeks in it.
' Livy, XXXIV. 31.
EIAP. n. THB ROMAN qOKQUBST. 499
As soon as the Komans appeared in Greece, the
ristocracy surrendered to them. Hardly anybody
lought then that they were choosing between inde-
endence and subjection ; for most men the question
ras only between aristocracy and the popular party.
a all the cities the latter was for Philip, Antiochus,
r Perseus, and the former for Rome. We may see
1 Polybius and Livy that when Argos opened her
ates, in B. C. 198, to the Macedonians, the people had
he sway there ; that the next year, it was the party
f the rich that gave up Opuntii to the Romans ; that,
mong the Acarnanians, the aristocracy made a treaty
f alliance with Rome, and that in the following year
his treaty was broken, because, in the intei-val, the
leople had recovered the ascendency ; that Thebes was
Hied with Philip so long as the popular party had the
lower, and sided with Rome the moment the aristoo-
acy became the masters ; that at Athens, at Deme-
rias, and. at Phocsea the populace were hostile to the
lomans ; that Nabis, the democrati.o tyrant, made war
ipon them ; that the Achaean league, as long as it was
;overned by the aristocracy, was favorable to them;
hat men like Philopoemen and Polybius desired na-
ional independence, but preferred Roman rule to
lemocvacy; that in the Achaean league itself there
lame a moment when the popular party rose in its
urn, and from that moment the league was the enemy
if Rome ; that Diaeus and Critolaus were at the same
ime the chiefs of the popular faction and the generals
if the league against the Romans, and that they fought
•ravely at Scarphea and at Leucopetra, less perhaps
or the independence of Greece than for the triumph
if democracy.
Such facts show clearly enough how Rome, without
500 MUNICIPAL EEGIME DISAPPEAES. BOOK V
any very great efforts, obtained the empire. The mu-
nicipal spirit gradually disappeared. The love of
independence became a very rare sentiment, and all
hearts were entirely enlisted in the interests and pas-
sions of parties. Insensibly men forgot the city. The
barriers which had previously separated cities, and had
made of thera so many distinct little worlds, whose
liorizons bounded the wishes and thoughts of every one,
fell one after another. In all Italy and in all Greece,
only two groups of men were distinguished : on one
hand was an aristocratic class, on the other a popular
party. One party labored for the supremacy of Rome,
the other opposed it. The aristocracy were victorious,
and Rome acquired the empire.
4. Home evert/where destroys the Municipal System.
The institutions of the ancient city had been weak-
sued, and almost exhausted, by a series of revolutions.
One of the first results of the Roman dominion was to
complete their destruction, and to efface what stUl re-
mained of them. This we can see by observing the
jondition into which the nations fell as they became
subject to Rome.
We must first banish from our minds all the customs
3f modern politics, and not picture to ourselves the
lations entering the Roman state, one after another,
IS in our day provinces are annexed to a kingdom,
which, on receiving these new members, extends its
boundaries. The Roman state {civitas Romano) was
dot enlarged by conquests; it never included any fam-
ilies except those that figured in the religious ceremony
jf the census. The Roman territory (a^er Jtomamcs)
aever increased. It remained enclosed within the
CHAP. n. THE ROMAN CONQUEST. 601
immutable limits which the kings had traced for it,
and which the ceremony of the Amiarvalia sanctified
every year. What increased with every conquest was
the domiuipn of Rome (imperium Bamanum) .
So long as the republic lasted, it never entered the
mind of any one that the Romans and the other peo-
ples could form a single nation. Rome might, indeed,
receive a few of the conquered, allow them to live
within her walls, and transiorm them, in the course of
time, into Romans; but she could not assimilate a
whole foreign people to her people, an entire territory
to her territory. Still this was not peculiar to the
policy of Rome, but a principle that held through all
antiquity; it was a principle from which Rome would
sooner have departed than any other city, but from
which she could not entirely free herselfl Whenever,
therefore, a people was conquered, it did not enter the
Roman state; it entered only the Roman dominion.
It was not united to Rome, as provinces are to-day
united to a capital ; between other nations and itself
Rome knew only two kinds of connection — subjection
or alliance.
From this it would seem that municipal institutions
must have subsisted among the conquered, and tha,t the
world must have been an assemblage of cities distinct
from each other, and having at their head a i-uling city.
But it was nothing of the kind. The effect of the
Roman conquest was to work in every city a complete
transformation.
On one side were the subjects dedititii, or those
who, having pronounced the. formula of the deditio,
had delivered to the Roman people "their persons,
their walls, their lands, their lyaters, their houses, their
temples, and their gods.''
502 MUNICIPAL REGIME DISAPPEARS. BOOK V.
They had therefore renounced, not only their muni-
cipal government, but all that appertained to it among
the ancients, — that is to say, their religion aud their
private law. From that moment these men no longer
formed a political body among themselves; nothing
that goes to make up a regular society remained to
them. Their city (urbs) might remain standing, but
the state (civitas) had perished. If they continued to
live together, they lived without institutions, laws, or
magistrates. The arbitrary authority of a prcefectus
sent by Rome maintained material order among them.'
Dn the other hand were the allies — foederati, or socii.
rhey were less cruelly treated. The day on which
;hey entered the Roman dominion, it had been stipu-
ated that they should preserve their municipal govern-
ment, and should remain organized into cities. They
;herefbre continued to have in every city a constitution,
Tiagistracies, a senate, a prytaneum, laws, and judges.
The city was supposed to be independent, and seemed
;o have no other relations with Rome than those of an
illy with its ally. Still, in the terms of the treaty
ivhich had been drawn up at the time of the conquest,
Rome had been careful to insert these words: Majes-
atempopyli JRomani comiter conservator These terms
jstablished the dependence of the allied city upon the
netropolitan city, and as they were very vague, it hap-
)ened that the measure of this dependence was .nlwaya
n accordance with the will of the stronger. These
sities, which were called free, received orders from
Some, obeyed proconsuls, and paid taxes to the col-
• Livy, I. 38; VII. 31; IX. 20; XXVI. 16; XXVIII. 34.
::ieeio, De Lege Agr., I. 6; II. 32. Festus, y. PrafeciuYcB.
• Cicero, Pro BaXlo, 16.
CHA.P. II. THB ROMAN CONQUEST. 503
lectors of the revenue. Their magistrates irender'ed
their accounts to the governor of the province, who
also heard the appeals from the judges.' Now, such
wiis the nature of the municipal system among the an-
cients that it needed complete independence, or it
ceased to exist. Between the maintenance of the in
stitutions of the city and their subordination to .1 for-
eign power, there was a contradiction which perhaps
does not clearly appear to the eyes of the moderns, but
which must have struck every man of that period. Mu-
nicipal liberty and the government of Rome were ir-
reconcilable ; the first could be only an appe.-irance, a
falsehood, an amusement calculated to divert the minds
of men. Each of those cities sent, almost every year, a
deputation to Rome, and its most minute and most pri-
vate affairs were regulated by the senate. They still
had their municipal magistrates, their archons, and
their strategi, freely elected by themselves; but the
archon no longer had any other duty than to inscribe
his name on the registers for the purpose of marking
the year, and the strategus, in earlier times the chief
of the army and of the state, now had no other care
tlian to keep the streets in order, and inspect the mar-
kets.''
Municipal institutions, therefore, perished among the
nations that were called allies as well as among those
that bore the name of subjects ; there was only tiiis
diflFerence, that the first preserved the exterior forms.
Indeed, the city, as antiquity had understood it, was no
longer seen anywhere, except within the walls of Rome.
' Livy, XLV. 18. Cicero, ad Attic, VI. 1, 2. Appian, Civil
Wars, I. 102. Tacitus, XV. 45.
^ Philostratus, Lives of the Sophists, I. 23. Boeckh., Corp.
Inscr., passim.
504 MUNICIPAL BEGIMB DISAPPEARS. BOOK V.
Then, too, the Romans, while everywhere destroying
the municipal system, substituted nothing in its place.
To the people whose institutions they took away, they
3id not give their own instead. The Romans never
thought of creating new institutions for their use; they
never made a constitution for the people of their em-
pire, and did not understand how to establish fixed
rules for their government. Even the authority which
Rome exercised over the cities had no regularity. As
they made no part of her state, or of her city, she had
no legal power over them. Her subjects were strau-
lers to her — a reason why she exercised this irregular
md unlimited power which ancient municipal law al-
lowed citizens to exei-cise towards foreigners and ene-
mies. It was on this principle that the Roman admin-
istration was a long time regulated, and this is the
manner in whiih it was earned on.
Rome sent one of her citizens into a country. She
made that country the province of this man, — that is
bo say, his charge, his own care, his personal afiair;
this was the sense of the word provincia. At the same
time she conferred upon this citizen the imperivm /
this signified that she gave up in his favor, for a deter-
mined time, the sovereignty which she held over the
30unti'y. From that time this citizen represented in
his person all the rights of the republic, and by this
[iieans he was an absolute master. He fixed the amount
af taxes ; he exercised the military power, and admin-
istered justice. His relations with the subjects, or the
allies, were limited by no constitution. When he sat
in his judgment-seatjhe pronounced decisions accord-
ing to his own will ; no law controlled him, neither the
provincial laws, as he was a Roman, nor the Roman
laws, as he passed judgment upon provincials. If there
aAP. U. THK KOMAN CONQUEST, 505
ere laws between hirn and those that he governed, he
ad to make them himself, for he alone could bind him-
jlf. Therefore the imperium with which he was
lothed included the legislative power ; and thus it
appened that the governors had the right, and estab-
shed the custom, on entering the provinces, of pub-
shing a code of laws, which they called their Edict,
nd to which they morally promised to conform. But
8 the governors were changed annually, these codes
hanged every year, for the reason that the law had its
uurce only in the will of the man who was for the
ime invested with the miperium. This princiiDle was
0 rigorously applied that, when a judgment had been
renounced by a governor, but had not been entirely
xecuted at the time of his departure from the province,
he arrival of his successor completely annulled this
udgmeut, and the proceedings were recommenced.'
Such was the omnipotence of the governor. He was
he living law. As to invoking the justice of Rome
gainst his acts of violence or his crimes, the provin-
ials could not do this unless they could find a Homan
itizen who would act as their patron ; '^ for, as to them-
elves, they had no right to demand the protection of
he laws of the city, or to appeal to its courts. They
irere foreigners; the judicial and official language called
hem peregrini ; all that the law said of the hostis con-
inued to be applied to them.
The legal situation of the inhabitants of the empire
ppears clearly in the writings of the Roman juris-
lonsults. We therie see that the people are considered
IS no longer having their own laws, and as not yet hav-
ng those of Rome. For them, therefore, the law
• Gmus, IV. 103, 105. ' Cicero, De Orat., I. 9.
506 MUNICIPAL EEGIME DISAPPEAES. BOOK V
did not exist in any manner. In the eyes of tiie Ro-
man jurisconsult, a provincial was neither husband nor
father, — that is to say, the law recognized neither his
marital nor his paternal authority. For him property
did not exist. It was a double impossibility for. him to
become a proprietor; it was impossible by leason of
his personal condition, because he was not a Roman
citizen, and impossible by reason of the condition of the
land, because it was not Roman territory, and the law
admitted the complete right of ownership only within
the limits of the ager Somanus. For the lawyers
taught that the land in the provinces was never private
property, and that men could have only the possession
and usufruct thereof.' Now, what they said in the sec-
ond century of our era of the provincial territory had
been equally true of the Italian soil before Italy ob-
tained the Roman franchise, as we shall presently see.
It is certain, then, that the people, as fast as they en-
tered the Roman empire, lost their municipal religion,
their government, and their private law. We can easi-
ly believe that Rome softened in practice whatever was
destructive in this subjection. We see, indeed, that,
though the Roman laws did not recognize the paternal
authority in the subject, they allowed this authority
still to subsist in practice. If they did not permit a
certain man to call himself a proprietor of the soil, they
still allowed him the possession of it; he cultivated his
land, sold it, and devised it by will. It was not said
that this land was bis, but they said it was as good as
his, pro suo. It was not his property, dominium, but it
was among his goods, in bonis ' Rome thus invented
' Gaius, II. 7. Cicero, Pro Flacco, 32.
" Gaius, I. 62; 11. 5, 6, 7.
CHAP. n. THE EOMAN CONQUEST, 507
for the benefit of the subject a niultitncle of turns and
artifices of language. Indeed, the Roman genius, if its
municipal traditions prevented it from making laws for
the conquered, could not sufier society to fall into dis-
solution. In principle the provincials were placed out-
side the laws, while in fact they lived as if they had
them ; but with the exception of this, and the tolerance
of the conquerors, all the institutions of the vanquished
and all their laws were allowed to disappear. The
Roman empire presented, for several generations, this
singular spectacle : A single city remained intact, pre-
serving its institutions and its laws, while all the rest
— that is to say, more than a hundred millions of souls
— either had no kind of laws, or had such as were not
recognized by the ruling city. The world then was
not precisely in a state of chaos, but force, arbitrary
rule, and convention, in default of laws and principles,
alone sustained society.
Such was the efiect of the Roman conquest on the
nations that successively became its prey. Of the city
everything went to ruin ; religion first, then the gov-
ernment, and finally private law. All the municipal
institutions, already for a long time shaken, were finally
overthrown and destroyed ; but no regular society, no
system of government, replaced at once what had dis-
appeared. There was a period of stagnation between
the moment when men saw the municipal governments
dissolve and that in which another form of society ap-
peared. The nation did not at once succeed the city, for
the Roman empire in no wise resembled a nation. It
was a confused multitude, where there was real order
only in one central point, and where all the rest en-
joyed only a factitious and transitory order, and ob-
tained this only at the price of obedience. The con-
508 MUNICIPAL EBGIMB DISAPPBAES, BOOK V.
quered nations succeeded in establishing tliemselves as
an organized body only by conquering in their turn the
rights and institutions which Rome was inclined to
keep for itself. In order to this they had to enter the
Roman city, make a place for themselves there, presa
forward, and transform that city also, in order to make
of themselves and Rome one body. This was a long
and difficult task.
5. The Conquered Nations successively enter the
Roman City.
We have seen how deplorable was the condition of
the Roman subject, and how the condition of the citi-
zen was. to be envied. Not vanity alone, but the most
real and dearest interests had to suffer. "Whoever was
not a Roman citizen was not reputed to be either a
husband or a father; legally he could be neither pro-
prietor nor heir. Such was the value of the title of
Roman citizen, that without it one was outside the
law, and with it he entered regular society. It hap-
pened, therefore, that this title became the object of the
most lively desires of men. The Latin, the Italian, the
Greek, and, later, the Spaniard and the Gaul, aspired
to be Roman citizens — the single means of having
rights and of counting for something. All, one after
another, nearly in the order in which they entered the
Roman empire, labored to enter the Roman city, and,
after long efforts, succeeded. This slow introduction
into the Roman state is the last act in the long history
of the social transformations of the ancients. To ob-
serve this gi'eat event in all its successive phases, we
must exajnine its commencement, in the fourth century
before our era.
CHAP. n. THE ROMAN CONQUEST. 509
Latium had been conquered ; of the forty small peo-
ples who inhabited it, Rome had exterminated half.
She had despoiled some of their lands, and had left to
others the title of allies. In B. C. 340 the latter pei--
ceived that the alliance was entirely to their detriment,
that they were expected to obey in everything, and that
they were required every yeai- to lavish their blood and
money for the sole benefit of Rome. They formed a
coalition ; their chief, Annius, thus stated their'demands
in the Roman senate : " Give us equality. Let us have
'the same laws; let us form but a single state — una
eivitas/ let us have but a single name; let us all alike
be called Romans." Annius thus announced, in the
year 340, the desirie which all the nations of the empire,
one after another expressed, and which was to be com-
plfetely realized only after five centuries and a half.
Then such a thdught was new and very unexpected ;
the Romans declared it monstrous and criminal. It
was, indeed, contrary to the old religion and the old
law of the cities. The consul, Manlius, replied, that if
such a proposition should be accepted, he would alay
with his own hand the first Latin who should come to
take his seat in the senate ; then, turning towards the
altar, he called upon the god to witness, saying, " Thott
hast heard, O Jupiter, the impious Words that have
come from- this man's mbuth. Canst thou tolerate, O
Jupiter, that a foreigner should come to sit in thy sa-
cred temple as a senator, as a consul ?" Thus Manlius
expressed the old sentiment of repulsion that separated
the citizen from the foreigner. He was the organ of the
ancient religious law, which prescribed that the for-
■gner should be detested by the men because he was
irsed by the gocis of the city. It appeared to him im-
ossible that a Latin should be a senator because the
510 MUNICIPAI, REGIME DISAPPBAK8. BOOK V.
place of meeting for the senate was a temple, and the
Roman gods conld not suffer the presence of a foreigner
in their sanctuary.
War followed : the Latins, being conquered, sur-
rendered,— that is to say, they gave up to the Romans
their cities, their worships, their laws, and their lands.
Their position was cruel. A consul said in the senate
that, if they did not wish Rome to be surrounded by a
vast desert, the fate of the Latins should be settled
with some regard to clemency. Livy does not clearly
explain what was done. If We are to trust him, the
Latins obtained the right of Roman citizenship without
including in the political privileges the right of suffrage,
or in the civil the right of marriage. We may also
note, that these new citizens were not counted in the
census. It is clear that the senate deceived the Latins
in giving them the name of Roman citizens. This title
disguised a real subjection, since the men who bore it
had the obligations of citizens without the rights. So
true is this, that several Latin cities revolted, in order
that this pretended citizenship might be withdrawn.
A century passed, and, without Livy's notice of the
fact, we might easily discover that Rome had changed
her policy. The condition of the Latins having the
rights of citizens, without suffrage and without connu-
bium, no longer existed. Rome had withdrawn from
them the title of citizens, or, rather, had done away with
this filsehood, and had decided to restore to the dif-
ferent cities their municipal governments, their laws,
nnd their magistracies.
But by a skilful device Rome opened a door which,
narrow as it was, permitted subjects to enter the Roman
city. It granted to every Latin who had been a magis-
trate in his native city the right to become a Roman
CHAP. n. THE EOMAIT CONQUEST. 511
citizen at the expiration of his term of officR.' This
time the gift of this right was complete and without
reserve; suffrage, magistracies, census, marriage, pri-
vate law, all were included. Rome resigned itself to
share with the foreigner its religion, its government,
anrl its laws; only its favors Avere individual, and were
addressed not to entire cities, hut to a few men in each
of them. Rome admitted to her bosom only what was
best, wealthiest, and most estimable in Latiiim.
This right of citizenship then became precious, first,
because it was complete, and secondly, because it was
a privilege. Through it a man figured in the comitia
of the most powerful city of Italy; he might be consul
and commander of the legions. There was also the
means of satisfying more inodest ambitions; thanks to
this right, one might ally himself, by marriage, to a
Roman family; or he might take up his abode at Rome,
and become a proprietor there ; or he might carry on
trade in Rome, which had already become one of the
first commercial towns in the world. One might enter
the company of farmers of the revenue, — that is to say,
take a part in the enormous profits which accrued from
the collection of the revenue, or from speculations in
the lauds of the ager puhlicus. Wherever one lived
he was efiectually protected ; he escaped the authority
of the municipal magistrate, and was sheltered from
the caprices of the Roman magistrates themselves. By
being a citizen of Rome, a man gained honor, wealth,
and security.
The Latins, therefore, became eager to obtain this
title, and used all sorts of means to acquire it. One
day, when Rome wished to appear a little severe, she
? Appian, Civil Wars, II. 26.
512 MUNICIPAL eegime'disappeaes. book v.
found that twelve thousand of them had obtained it
through fraud.
Ordinarily, Rome shut her eyes, knowing that by this
means her population increased, and that the losses of
war were thus repaired. But the Latin cities snifered ;
their richest inhabitants became Roman citizens, and
Latium was impoverished. The taxes, from which the
richest were exempt as Roman citizens, became more
and more burdensome, and the contingent of soldiers
that had to be furnished to Rome was every year more
difficult to fill up. The larger the number of those who
obtained the Roman franchise, the harder was the
lot of those who had not that right. There came a
time when the Latin cities demanded that this fran-
chise should cease to be a privilege. The Italian cities,
which, having been conquered two centuries before,
were in nearly the same condition as those of Latium,
and also saw their richest inhabitants abandon them to
become Romans, demanded for themselves the Roman
franchise. The fate of stibjects and allies had become
all the less supportable at this period, from the fact that
the Roman democracy was then agitating the great
question of the agrarian laws. Now, the principle of
all these laws was, that neither subject nor ally could
be an owner of the soil, except by a formal act of the
city, and that the gi-eater part of the Italian lands be-
longed to the republic. One party demanded, there-
fore, that these lands, which were nearly all occupied
by Italians, should be taken back by the state, and dis-
tributed among the poor of Rome. Thus the Italians
were menaced with general ruin. They felt keenly
the need of civil rights, and they could only come into
possession of these by becoming Roman citizens.
The war that followed was called the social war;
CHAP. n. THE EOMAN CONQUEST. 513
the allies of Rome took np arms that they might no
longer be allies, but might become Romans. Rome,
though victorious, was still constrained to grant what
was demanded, and the Italians received the rights of
citizenship. Thenceforth assimilated to the Romans,
they could vote in the forum ; in private life they were
governed by Roman laws ; their right to the soil was
recognized, and the Italian lands, as well as Roman
soil, could be owned by them in fee simple. Then was
established the jus Itdlicum: this was the law, not df
■the Italian person, since the Italian had become a Ro-
man, but of the Italian soil, which was susceptible of
ownership, just as if it had been the ager Momanus.'
From that time all Italy formed a single state.
There still remained the provinces to enter into the
Roman nnity.
We must make a distinction between Greece and
the provinces of the west. In the west were Gaul and
■Spain, which, before the conquest, knew nothing of
the real municipal system. The Romans attempted
to create this fonn of government among them, either
thinking it impossible to govern them otherwise, or
judging that, in order gradually to assimilate them to
the Italian nations, it would be necessary to maike them
pass over the same route which the Italians had fol-
lowed. Hence it happened that the emperors who
suppressed all political life at Rome, kept up the forms
of municipal liberty in the provinces. Thus cities were
formed in Gaul ; each had its senate, its aristocratic
body, its elective magistrates; each had even its locnl
worship, its "Genius, and its city-protecting divinity,
After the manner of those in ancient Greece and an-
' Thenceforth also called res mancipi. See tJlpian.
33
514 MUNICIPAT, EEGTME DISAPPKAES. BOOK V.
cient Itnly. Now, tliis municipal system, thus estab-
lished, did not prevent men from nniving at the Roman
citizenship ; on the contrary, it prepared them for it. A
gradation, skilfully arranged among these cities, marked
the steps by which they were insensibly to approach
Rome, and finally to become assimilated with it.
There were distinguished, first, the allies, who had a
government and laws of their own, and no legal bond
with Roman citizens ; second, the colonies, which en-
joyed the civil rights of the Romans, without having
political rights; third, the cities of the Italian right, —
that is to say, those to whom, by the favor of Rome, the
complete right of property over their lands had been
granted, as if these lands had been in Italy; fourth,
the cities of the Latin right, — that is to say, those
whose inhabitants could, following the custom formerly
established in Latium, become Roman citizens after
having held a municipal office. These distinctions were
so deep, that between persons of two diiferent classes
no marriage or other legal relation was possible. But
the emperors took care that the cities should rise in
the course of time, and one after another, from the
condition of subjects or allies, to the Italian right, fi-om
the Italian right to the Latin right. When a city
had arrived at this point, its principal families became
Romans one after another.
Greece entered just as little into the Roman state.
At first every city preserved the forms and machinery
of the municipal government. At the moment of the
conquest, Greece showed a desire to preserve its au-
tonomy ; and this was left to it longer, perhaps, than
it would have wished. At the end of a few generations
it aspired to become Roman ; vanity, ambition, and
interest worked for this.
,CHAP. n. THE SOMAN CONQUEST. 515
The Greeks had not for Rome that hatred which is
usually borne towards a foreign master. They admired
it ; they had a veneration for it ; of their own accord
they devoted a worship to it, and built temples to it as
to a god. Every city forgot its protecting divinity, and
worshipped in its place the goddess Rome and the god
Caesar; the greatest festivals were for them, and the
first magistrates had no higher duty than celebrating
with great pomp the Augustan games. Men thus be-
came accustomed to lift their eyes above their cities ;
they saw in Rome the model city, the true country,
the piytaneum of all nations. The city where one was
born seemed small. Its interests no longer occupied
their minds; the honors which it conferred no longer
satisfied their ambition. Men thought themselves noth-
ing if they were not Roman citizens. Under the em-
perors, it is true, this title no longer conferred political
fights ; but it offered more solid advantages, since the
man who was clothed with it acquired at the same
time the full right to hold property, the right to inherit,
the right to marry, the paternal authority, and all the
private rights of Rome. The laws which were found
in each city were variable and without foundation;
they were merely tolerated. The Romans despised
them, and the Greeks had little respect for them. In
order to have fixed laws, recognized by all as truly sa-
cred, it was necessary to have those of Rome.
We do not see that all Greece, or even a Greek city,
formally asked for this right of citizenship, so much de-
sired; but men worked individually to acquire it, and
Rome bestowed it with a good grace.' Some obtained
it through the favor of the emperor; others bought it.
It was granted to those who had three children, or
who served in certain divisions of the army. Somer
516 MUNICIPAL EEGIMB DISAPPEAES. BOOK T.
times to construct a mercliant vessel of a certain ton-
nage, or to carry grain to Rome, was sufficient to ob-
tain it. An easy and prompt means of acquiring it
was to sell one's self as-a slave to a Roman citizen, for
tlie act of freeing him according to legal forms con-
ferred the right of citizenship.' One who had the title of
Roman citizen no longer formed a part of his native
city, either civilly or politically. He could continue to
live there, but he was considered an alienj he was no
longer subject to the laws of the city, he no longer
obeyed its magistrates, no longer supported its pe-
cuniary burdens.' This was a consequence of the old
principle, which did not permit a man to belong to two
cities at the same time." It naturally happened that,
after several generations, there were in every Greek
oity quite a large number of men, and these ordinarily
the wealthiest, who recognized neither its government
nor its laws. Thus slowly, and as if by a natui-al death,
peiished the municipal system. There came a time
when the city was a mei-e framework that contained
nothing, where the local laws applied to hardly a per-
son, where the municip.il judges no longer had anything
to adjudicate upon.
Finally, when eight or ten generations had sighed
for the Roman fi-anchise, and;all those who were of any
account had obtained it, there appeared an imperial
' Suetonius, Nero, 24. Petronius, 67. Ulpian, III. Gaius,
I. 16, 17.
^ He became an alien even in respect to his own family, if it
had not, like him, tlie right of citizenship. He did not inherit
its property. Pliny, Panegyric, 37.
' Cicero, Pro Ballo, 28 ; Pro Archia, 6 ; Pro Ccecina, 36.
Cornelius Nepos, Attieus, 3. Greece long before had abandoned
this principle, but Rome held faithfully to it.
CHAP. n. THB BOMAir CONQXTfiST. 5t7
decree -which granted it to all free men without dis-
tinction.
What is remarkable here is, that no one can tell the
date of this decree or tlie name of the prince who is-
sued it. The honor is given, with some probability of
truth, to Caraealla, — that is to say, to a prince who
never had very elevated views ; and this is attributed
to him as simply a fiscal measure. We meet in history
with few more important decrees than this. It abol-
ished the distinction whicli had existed since the Ro-
man conquest between the dominant nation and the
subject peoples ; it oven caused to disappear a much
older distinction, which I'eligion and law had made be-
tween cities. Still the historians of that time took no
note of it, and all we know of it we glean from two
vague passages of the juiisconsults and a short notice in
Dion Cassius.^ If this decree did not strike contempo-
' " Attloninits Km jus Romanm civUaHs omniiiis subj^ctis.
dona/cit." Justinian, Noliets, 7S, ch. 5. " iji orbe Romano qu/i
sunt, ex constitutione imperatoris Anionini, cives Romani effiecti
sunt." Ulpian, in Digest, I. tit. 6, 17. It is known, moreover,
from Spartianus, that Caraealla was called Antoninus in official
acts. Dion Cassius says that Caraealla gave all the inhabitants
of the empire the Roman franchise in order to make general the
impost of tithes on enfranchisements and successions. The dis-
tinction between peregrini, Latins, and citizens did not entirely
disappear; it is found in Ulpian and in the Code. Indeed, it
appeared natural that enfranchised slaves should not imme-
diately become Roman citizens, but should pass through all the
old grades that separated servitude from citizenship. We als j
judge from certain indications that the distinction between the
Italian lands and the provincial lands still continued for a long
time. (Code, VII. 25; VII. 31; X. 39. Digest, L. tit. 1.)
Thus the city of Tyre, in Phoenicia, even later thail Caraealla,
enjoyed as a privilege the jus Italieum.. (^Digest, IV. 15.) The
continuance of this distinction is explained by the interest of the
518 MUNICIPAL KEGIMB DISAPPEABS. BOOK V.
raries, and was not remarked by those who then wrote
history, it is because the change of which it was the
legal expression had been accomplished long before.
The inequality between citizens and subjects had been
lessened every generation, and had been gradually ef-
faced. The decree might jiass unperceived under the
Teil of a fiscal measure ; it proclaimed and caused to
pass into the domain of law what was already an ac-
complished fact;
The title of citizen then began to fall into desuetude ;
o)', if it was still employed, it was to designate the con-
dition of a free man as opposed to that of a slave.
From that time all that made a part of the Roman em-
pire, from Spain to the Euphrates, formed really one
people and a single state. The distinction between
cities had disappeared; that between nations still ap-
peared, but was hardly noticed. All the inhabitants of
this immense empire were equally Romans. The Gaul
abandoned his name of Gaul, and eagerly assumed that
of Roman; the Spaniard, the inhabitant of Thrace, or
of Syria, did the same. There was now but a single
name, a single country, a single government, a single
code of laws.
We see how the Roman city developed from age to
age. At first it contained only patricians and clients;
afterwards the plebeian class obtained a place there;
then came the Latins, then the Italians, and finally the
provincials. The conquest had not sufficed to work
this great change ; the slow transfoimation of ideas,
the prudent but uninterrupted concessions of the em-
perors, and the eagerness of individual interests had
been necessary. Then all the cities gradually disajj-
emperors, who did not wish to be deprived of the tribute which
the provincial lands paid into the treasury.
CHAP. III. CHEISTIANITT. 519
pearecl, and the Roman city, the last one left, was it-
self so transformed that it became the union of a dozen
great nations under a single master. Thus fell the mu-
nicipal system.
It does not belong to our plan to tell by what system
of government this was replaced, or to inquire if this
change was at first more advantageous than unfortu-
nate for the nations. We must stop at the moment
when the old social forms which antiquity had estab-
lished were forever effaced.
CHAPTER III.
Christianity changes the Conditions of Government.
Thk victory of Christianity marks the end of ancient
society. With the new religion this social transforma-
tion, which we saw begun six or seven centuries earlier,
was completed.
To understand how much the principles and the es-
sential rules of politics were then changed, we need
only recollect that ancient society had been established
by an old religion whose principal dogma was that
every god protected exclusively a single family or a
single city, and existed only for that. This was the
time of the domestic gods and the city-protecting di-
vinities. This religion had produced laws; the rela-
tions among men — property, inheritance, legal pro-
ceedings— all were regulated, not by the principles of
natural equity, but by the dogmas of this religion, and
with a view to the requirements of its worship. It was
this religion that had established a government among
520 MUNICIPAL BEGIMB DISAPPBABS. BOOK. V.
men ; that of the father in the family; that of the king
or magistrate in the city. All had come from religion,
— that is to say, from the opinion that man had enter-
tained of the divinity. Religion, law, and government
were confounded, and had been but a single thing un-
der three different aspects.
We have sought to place in a clear light this social
system of the ancients, where reli^on. was absolute
master, both in public and private life; where the state
was a religious community, the king a pontiff, the ma-
gistrate a priest, and the law a sacred formula ; where
patriotism was piety, and exile excommunication;
where individual liberty was unknown ; where man
was enslaved to tlie state through his soul, his body,
and his property; where the notions of law and of duty,
of justice and of affection, were bounded within the
limits of the city; where humdn association was neces-
saiily confined within a certain circumference around
a prytaneum ; and where men saw no possibility of
founding larger societies. Such were the character-
istic traits of the Greek and Italian cities during the
first period of their history.
But little by little, as we have seen, society became
modified. Changes took place in government and in
laws nt the same time as in religious ideas. Already,
in the f.fth century which preceded Christianity, the
alliiince was no longer so close between religion on the
one hand and law and politics on the other. The ef-
forts of the oppressed classes, the overthrow of the
sncei'dotal class, the labors of philosophers, the progress
of thought, had unsettled the ancient principles of hu-
man association. Men had made incessant efforts to
free themselves from the thraldom of this old religion,
in which they could no longer believe ; law and politics,
CHAP. III. CHEISTIA2J1TT. 521
aa well as morals, in the course of time wore freed from
its fetters.
But this species of divorce came from the disappear-
ance of the ancient religion ; if law and politics began
to be a little more independent, it was because men
ceased to have religious beliefs. If society was no
longer governed by religion, it was especially because
this religion no longer had any power. But there
came a day when the religious sentiment recovered
life and vigor, and when, under the Christian form, be-
lief regained its empire over the soul. Were men not
then destined to see the reappearance of the ancient
confusion of government and the priesthood, of faith
and the law ?
With Christianity not only was the religious senti-
ment revived, but it assumed a higher and If ss material
expression. Whilst previously men had made for them-
selves gods of the human soul, or of the great forces of
nature, they now began to look upon God as really for-
eign by his essence, from human nature on the one .
hand, and from the world on the other. The divine
Being was placed outside and above physical nature.
Whilst previously every man had made a god for him-
self, and there were as many of them as there were
families and cities, God now appeared as a unique,^ im-
mense, universal being, alone animating the worlds,
alone able to supply the need of adoration that is in
man. Religion, instead of being, as formerly among
the nations of Greece and Italy, little more than an as-
semblage of practieesi a series of rites which men re-
peated without having any idea of them, a succession
of formulas which often were no longer understood be^-
cause the language had grown old, a tradition which
bad been transmitted from age to age, and which owed
522 MUITICIPAL REGIME DISAPPEAES. BOOK V.
its sacred character to its antiquity alone, — was no\<^a
collection of doctrines, and a great object proposed to
faith. It was no longer exterior; it took up its abode
especially in the thoughts of man. It was no longer
matter; it became spirit. Christianity changed the
nature and the form of adoration. Man no longer of-
fered God food and drink. Prayer was no longer a
form of incantation ; it was an act of faith and a humble
petition. The soul sustained another relation with the
■divinity ; the fear of the gods was replaced by the love
of God.
Christianity introduced other new ideas. It was not
the domestic religion of any family, the national reli-
gion of any city, or of any race. It belonged neither
to a caste nor to a corporation. From its first appear-
ance it called to itself the whole human race. Christ
said to his disciples, " Go ye into all the world, and
preach the gospel to every creature.''
This principle was so extraordinary, and so unex-
pected, that the first disciples hesitated for a moment ;
we may see in the Acts of the Apostles that several of
them refused at first to propagate the new doctrine
outside the nation with which it had originated. These
disciples thought, like the ancient Jews, that the God
of the Jews would not accept adoration from foreign-
ers ; like the Romans and the Greeks of ancient times,
they believed that every race had its god, that to propa-
gate the name and worship of this god was to give up
one's own good and special protectoi", and that such a
work was contrary at the same titne to duty and to in-
terest. But Peter replied to these disciples, "God gave
the gentiles the like gift as he did unto us." St. Paul
loved to repeat this grand principle on all occasions,
and in every kind of form. « God had opened the door
CHAP. ni. CHEISTIANITT. 523
of faith unto the gentiles." « Is he the God of the '
Jews, only ? Is he not also of the gentiles ? " " We
are all baptized into one body, whether we be Jews or
gentiles."
In all this there was something quite new. For,
everywhere, in the first ages of humanity, the divinity
had been imagined as attaching himself especially to
one race. The Jews had believed in the God of the
Jews ; the Athenians in the Athenian Pallas ; the Ro-
mans in Jupiter Capitolinus. The right to practise a
worship had been a privilege.
The foreigner had been repulsed from the temple ;
one not a Jew could not enter the temple of the Jews ;
the Lacedaemonian had not the right to invoke the
Athenian Pallas. It is just to say, that, in the five cen-
turies which preceded Christianity, all who thought
were struggling against these narrow rules. Philoso-
phy had often taught, since Anaxagoras, that the god
of the universe received the homage of all men, without
distinction. The religion of Eleusis had admitted the
initiated from all cities. The religion of Cybele, of
Serapis, and some others, had accepted, without dis-
tinction, worshippers from all nations. The Jews had
begun to admit the foreigner to their religion ; the
Greeks and the Romans had admitted him into their
cities. Christianity, coming after all this progress in
thought and institutions, presented to the adoration of
all nr.en a single God, a universal God, a God who be-
longed to all, who had no chosen people, aud who made
no distinction in races, families, or states.
For this God there were no longer strangers. The
stranger no longer profaned the temple, no longer
tainted the sacrifice by his presence. The temple was
open to all who believed in God. The priesthood
h24 MDNICffAI. EEGIMB DISAPPEAES. BOOK V.
ceased to be hereditary, because religion was no longeir
a patrimony. The worship was no longer kept secret ;
the rites, the prayers, the dogmas were no longer con-
cealed. On the contrary, there was thenceforth religious
instruction, which was not only given, but which was
offered, which was careied to those who were the far-
thest away, and which sought out the most indifferent.
The spirit of propagandism replaced the law of ex-
clusion.
Froniithis great consequences flowed, as well for the
relations between nations as for the government of
states.
Between nations religion no longer commanded
hatred; it no longer made it the citizen's duty to
detest the foreigner; its very essence, on the contrary,
was to teach him that towards the stranger, towards
the enemy, he owed the duties of justice, and even of
benevolence. The barriera between nations or races
were thus thrown down ; the pomoerium disappeared.
" Christ," says the: apostle^. " hath broken down the
middle wall of partition between us." " But now are
they many members," he also says, "yet but one
body." " There is neitker Greek nor Jew, circumcision
nor uncircuracision, Barbarian, Scythian, bond nor free :
but Christ is all, and in all."
The. people were also taught that they were all de-
scended from the same common fother. With the unity
of God, the unity of the human race also appeared to
men's minds; and it was thenceforth a religious neces-
sity to forbid men to hate each other.-
As to the government of the state, we cannot say
that Christianity essentially altered that, precisely be-
cause it did not occupy itself with the state. In the
ancient ages, religion and thestate made bat one; every
CHAP. HI. CHEISTIANITT. 525
people adored its own god, and every god governed his
own people ; the same code regulated the relations
among men, and their duties towards the gods of the
city. Religion then governed the state, and designated
its chiefs by the voice of the lot, or by that of the auspices.
The state, in its turn, interfered with the domain of the
conscience, and punished every infrjictioti of the rites
and the worship of tlie city.. Instead of this, Christ
teaches that his kingdom is not of this world. He
separates Teligion from government. Religion, being
no longer of the earth, now interferes the least possible
in tea-restrial affairs. Christ adds, "Render to Caesar
the things that are Caesar's, and to God the things that
are God's." It is the fii-st time that God and the state
are so clearly distinguished. For CsBsar at that period
was still the ponUfex maximvs, the chief and the prin-
cipal organ of the Roman religion ; he was the guardian
and the interpreter of belief's. He held the worship
and tlie dc^mas in his hands. Even his person was
sacred and divine, for it was a peculiarity of the policy
of the emperors that, "wishing to recover the attributes
of .ancient royalty, they were careful not to forget the
divine character whicli antiquity had attached to the
^g-pontiffs and to the rpfl-iest-founders. But now
Cluist breaks the alliance which paganism and the em-
pire wished to renew. He proclaims that religion is no
longer 1iie state, and that to ob^'y Caesar is no longer
the same thing as to obey God.
Christianity completes the overthrow of the local
worship ; it extinguishes the prytanea, and complete-
ly destroys the city^^protecting divinities. It does
more ; it refuses to assume the empire which these wor-
ships had exercised over <sivil society. It ipi'ofeBBes that
between the state and itselfthere is nothing in common.
526 MUNICIPAL REGIME DISAPPEAES. BOOK V.
It separates what all antiquity had confounded. We
may remark, moreover, that during three centuries the
new religion lived entirely beyond the action of the
state ; it knew how to dispense with state protection,
and even to struggle against it. These three centuries
established an abyss between the domain of the gov-
ernment and the domain of religion ; and, as the recol-
lection of this period could not be effaced, it followed
that this distinction became a plain and incontestable
truth, which the efforts even of a part of the clergy
could not eradicate.
This principle was fertile in great results. On one
hand, politics became definitively fi-eed from the strict
rules which the ancient religion had traced, and could
govern men without having to bend to sacred usages,
without consulting the auspices or the oracles, without
conforming all acts to the beliefs and requirements of a
worship. Political action was freer ; no other authority
than that of the moral law now impeded it. On the
other hand, if the state was more completely master in
certain things, its action was also more limited. A
complete half of man had been freed from its control.
Christianity taught that only a part of man belonged to
society ; that he was bound to it by his body and by his
material intei-ests; that when subject to a tyrant, it
was his duty to submit ; that as a citizen of a republic,
he ought to give his life for it, but that, in what re-
lated to his soul, he was free, and was bound only to
God.
Stoicism had already marked this separation ; it had
restored man to himself, and had founded liberty of
conscience. But that which was merely the effort of
the energy of a courageous sect, Christianity made a
universal and unchangeable rule for succeeding genera-
CHAP. III. CHEISTIANITT. 527
tions ; what was only the consolation of a few, it made
the common good of humanity.
If, now, we recollect what has been said above on
the omnipotence of the states among the ancients, —
if we bear in mind how far the city, in the name of its
sacred character and of religion, which was inherent in
it, exercised an absolute empire, — we shall see that this
new principle was the source whence individual lib-
ei'ty flowed.
The mind once freed, the greatest difliculty was over
come, and liberty was compatible with social order
Sentiments and manners, as well as politics, were then
changed. The idea which men had of the duties of
the citizen were modified. The first duty no longer
consisted in giving one's time, one's strength, one's life to
the state. Politics and war were no longer the whole
of man ; all the virtues were no longer comprised in
patriotism, for the soul no longer had a country. Man
felt that he had other obligations besides that of living
and dying for the city. Christianity distinguished the
private from the public virtues. By giving less honor
to the latter, it elevated the former ; it placed God, the
family, the human individual above country, the neigh-
bor above the city.
Law was also changed in its nature. Among all
ancient nations law had been subject to, and had re-
ceived all its rules from, religion. Among the Persians,
the Hindus, the Jews, the Greeks, the Italians, and the
Gauls, the law had been contained in the sacred books
or in religious traditions, and thus every religion had
made laws after its own image. Christianity, is the first
religion that did not claim to be the source of law. It
occupied itself with the duties of men, not with their
interests. Men saw it regulate neither the laws of
528 MUNICIPAL EEGIME DISAPPEARS. BOOK V.
property, nor tlie order of succession, nor obligations,
nor legal proceedings. It placed itself outside the law,
and outside all things purely teiTostrial. Law was In-
dependent; it could draw its rules from nature, from
the liuman conscience, from the powerful idea of the
just that is in men's minds. It could develop in com-
plete liberty ; could be reformed and improved without
obstacle ; could follow the progress of morals, and could
conform itself to the interests and social needs of every
generation.
The happy influence of the new idea is easily seen in
the history of Roman law. During several centuries
preceding the triumph of Christianity, Roman law had
already been stri\ing to disengage itsL'lf from reli-
gion, and to approach natural equity ; but it proceeded
only by shifts and devices, which enervated and en-
feebled its moral authority. The work of regenerating
legislation, announced by the Stoic philosophere, pur-
sued by the noble eflforts of Roman jurisconsults, out-
lined by the artifices and expedients of the pretor,
could not completely succeed except by favor of the
independence which the new religion allowed to the -
law. We can see, as Christianity gained ground, that
tlie Roman codes admitted new rules no longer by
subterfuges, but openly and without hesitation. The
domestic penates having been overthrown, and the
sacred fires extinguished, the ancient constitution of
the family disappeared forever, and with it the rules
that had flowed from this source. The father had lost
the absolute authority which his priesthood had fomier-
ly given him, and preserved only that which nature
itself had conferred upon him for the good of the child.
The wife, whom the old religion placed in a position
inferior to the husband, became morally his equal. The
CHAP. m. CHEISTIAIQTT. 529
laws of property were essentially altered ; the sacred
landmarks disappeared from the fields; the right of
property no longer flowed from religion, but from labor ;
its acquisition became easier, and the formalities of the
ancient law were definitively abolished.
Thns, by the single fact that the family no longer
had its domestic religion, its constitution and its laws
were transformed ; so, too, from the single fact that the
state no longer had its ofiicial religion, the rales for
the government of men were forever changed.
Our study must end at this limit, which separates
ancient from modern polities. We have written the
history of a belief. It was established, and human
society was constituted. It was modified, and society
underwent a series of revolutions. It disappeared, and
society changed its character. Such was the law of
ancient times.
34
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